The Darkness In Your Heart
by Finfinfin1
Summary: Legolas begins a new life in Ithilien but not all those who go with him are eager. Maewen, his love from before the war cannot accept the changes that war has inflicted upon him, and he carries pain from the past that cannot be ignored. When a tragedy strikes what will this mean for his new friendship with Aragorn? Will Maewen accept him for who he truly is?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All Tolkien's; Not Mine. Well Maiwen is mine...and Erynion, and Taenor, but the rest...they are all his.**

Legolas is my love and I am his.

He is the spark beneath my fire, the sun upon my shoulders, the cornerstone of my hope, the reason I am here.

For long centuries it has been thus - he and I together - and I hope I am at least a fraction to him, of what he is to me. I think I am. He tells me I am and mostly I believe him.

But he has changed, my Legolas; he went to Imladris on his father's say so, and who can ever argue with the King? He went, he stayed and allowed Lord Elrond to send him across all Arda in the company of mortals. I knew he would go; I knew that one sniff of adventure and he would be off. He cannot resist it and to ask him to do so would be asking him to not be Legolas. I cannot do that.

And so I waited, although it is not in my nature to wait patiently, and he came back to me, as I always knew he would. But he returned encumbered with the sea and entwined in the lives of mortals. The sea, I have never seen and cannot even imagine; the mortals I do not understand. And so where we used to be one heart - one mind about all things - now there is a gulf, a crevasse filled with darkness and misunderstanding between us.

He says his love for me has not changed. I say, it cannot possibly still be the same.

Now instead of lightness, joy and exuberance he is distraction, contemplation and melancholy and I do not know him, this new Legolas, but still I love him.

He turns his eyes to the sky and the gulls, his face to the wind and the seasalt tinged air. He yearns for a place we have never seen, not his woods, not the trees that he loved so well.

The mortals too have changed him. They have wound a chain about his heart with which they twist him this way and that. I do not like them.

I have met the dwarf; he has come to Ithilien many a time. He is solid and strong and he loves Legolas, I know this. I know too that when they travel I need not worry, for he protects my love with a fierceness that is admirable. He keeps him in the here and now and stops those wild silvan thoughts flying towards the ocean, far away from us. I might even like him if I knew him better but he is a dwarf, _a dwarf!_ When he visits I retreat, out to the edges of our settlement and I watch him from there, ever curious, He is a dwarf and yet Legolas loves him as a brother and I do not understand it.

When the King of Gondor comes, I leave, for him I _do_ resent.

It was he who led Legolas to the sea, he, who more than any has harmed him. He is the reason we are here in Ithilien and not the Greenwood we fought so long to save. He leads Legolas like a puppy behind him and I am angry because of it. And that is not the end of it, for in the future he will die and Legolas will be bereft. It is I who will be left to deal with that pain.

I have never been to Minas Tirith. I will not go, no matter how Legolas pleads. It is he who has chosen to bind himself with mortals, not I, and I want no part of it. I do not trust them, I do not wish to be in Elessar's city of stone. It has caused many harsh words between us - he accuses me of jealousy; he says I must learn to share him, that he wishes me to be a part of all his life and if I loved him, I would. I say I share him always, with all our people for he is never just mine to have, he is theirs as well. I say I do not wish to stand and watch as he follows a King who would hurt him, who is not our King, and if he loved me he would not ask it.

And so Legolas' mortal friends do not know of me although he wishes them to. They do not see me and Legolas says nothing. I am a shadow on the fringes of his life until they have departed for their cities and left us alone. Only then we are free.

Legolas is my love and I am his, but lately it is a love full of discord, and we struggle to find our way back to the us we used to know.

Today, however was a good day. We roamed the forest on patrol, a group of us, and he was himself as he ran beneath the trees, as light as I had almost forgotten he could be. I watched him as he danced his dance and marveled at the beauty within him. I wondered then, how it was that he was mine, why was I deserving of this gift above all gifts. I love to sit and watch him move; it mesmerises me. How did a being of such light ever notice me?

"He is well today and it is good to see."

It was Taenor stood beside me.

Wise, strong Taenor, friend of our King, sent by Thranduil, no doubt, to keep his errant son's feet on the ground, to watch over his most precious last child and keep him safe. How Legolas loved him. He was his rock when the burdens of leadership overwhelmed him. Legolas was not meant to lead, he was not born to it but instead to be a wild, silvan, younger son. Still he leads us all here and he does it well, but when he doubts, when he convinces himself he cannot do this, Taenor is there, always at his side - his protector.

I did not even have time to answer before Legolas was upon me, laughing, trying to encourage me to join him in the trees, and how could I resist, so rare were the days when he was like this.

Those were the last words Taenor spoke to me; ever.

It had to end, the gloriousness of that morning, for we came across the enemy. Still they walked in our woods and persecuted its people. Still we could not rid ourselves of them. It was a small group only and no match for us, really but they did damage, - so much damage - to the one I love.

Haradrim they were, those strange, dark, painted men the like of which I had not seen until I came here. We came across their trail and encircled them, There had been reports of their movements, harassing of Faramir's villagers and an attack on two of our people as they foraged by the river, no less . This was why we were out in the forest and it seemed we had found them. Killing men was not something I thought I would ever do, but it is unavoidable here, and Legolas deems it necessary to protect Elessar's people. Always, it comes down to Elessar.

Still we tried to avoid the conflict, tried to use diplomacy, for Legolas, despite his words is as hesitant of killing those who are not orcs as the rest of us. They are fools these Men. They do not understand the strength of elves, and when they attacked our prince we had no option but to defend him.

And so that is why I found myself on the edge of a glade, dead men at my feet. For a moment in time, a brief pause in the chaos, a lack of the enemy where I stood gave me space to look for Legolas. If I thought he was a beauty amongst the trees, well, in the midst of battle he is more so. He is a dervish, a bright flash of gold, a deadly weapon and in that stolen moment that I watch he takes away my breath, so glorious is he.

But as I watch he errs, it is so unusual, so not _Legolas,_ for as he puts an end to the man in front of him he does not sense the other approaching from the side. There is no time however for me to wonder at his mistake. I call his name in desperation but it is too late, far too late, and I can only watch in horror the slice of the blade across his side, the flash of blood, the stumble to his knees, for it takes him by surprise and he cannot retaliate in time.

"Legolas!"

My cry is high and urgent as the man raises his sword above my lovers head. It _cannot_ be, it cannot end here, not after so long, so many battles before this. He is Legolas, he is _my_ Legolas; he will always survive to come home to me. I am too far away, far too far. If only I had an arrow - I would only need but one to stop this - but I have long since discarded my bow.

I cannot breathe.

And then Taenor is there, his blow does not miss. It is only a second before the man lies dead at his feet.

And my life begins again.

Of course Taenor was watching Legolas, of course he would keep him safe.  
He says something I cannot hear as he reaches out his hand to pull Legolas to his feet, a comment on his fighting ability no doubt, as Legolas smiles in return, eyes alight with relief. They do not see the arrow and nor do I, so flushed with the ecstasy of a tragedy avoided are we all. We do not see it, do not sense it, until it is too late. Too late for Taenor to avoid it even as he twists to the side, a last desperate attempt at survival. All that ensures is that it strikes in the worst possible place. It slices through his neck.

There is the briefest of cries as he spins - eyes wide with shock, a spurt of crimson blood and then he tumbles, face down beside Legolas.

I cannot believe it. This has not happened, it cannot be so.

Then I am running, running, not fast enough, never fast enough. Why was I not closer? why did I not shout a warning? Why? Why? Why?

The words echo emptily in my head for there are no answers.

And as I run the look of horror upon Legolas' pale face tells me this will be bad. This will be so very, very bad.


	2. Chapter 2

The scene that meets me when I reach Legolas is horrific.

I am a seasoned warrior. I have seen death in all its guises, but this—this is soul destroying.

Taenor is dead. There is no denying it; there is no saving him. He stares at the sky, eyes wide, and he is not there. They are empty, his face chalk _white._ And the blood, oh the blood, a river of it flows from him. It is as if every drop he had is laid out on the ground before me.

Legolas is covered in it. .

He holds his hand to the wound in Taenor's throat, a desperate, futile, attempt to stem the blood which still seeps around his fingers, even now that Taenor is gone. I drop to my knees beside him and I know, I know _instantly_ because I know him almost as well as I do myself—at least I used to—that all is not well with him.

"Legolas, let go," I say gently, as I put my hand over his. "It is too late."

But he will not and I must release his grip myself, one finger at a time. He does not speak; he does not move; he does not see me-his eyes are blank and he has fled from us.

"How bad is it?"

It is Erynion, so long have I known him.

He has been with me through all the tragedies in my life, and he is here again in this. My closest friend, and Legolas', he kneels beside me. It is not Taenor he asks after, for a child could see from across the glade how bad that is. No, he asks for Legolas.

Erynion and I have seen this before, this numb and frozen Legolas. His thoughts will mirror mine. As I shake my head, he will know what I mean. He Was there too that day; we did not know what to do then and I am no wiser now.

That horrible day rises up to flood my mind as clearly as if I was still there. I never think of it; why does it accost me now?

We were so young then-all of us-barely warriors, and Legolas, only a novice on his first trip south. Erynion and I had been before, once, perhaps twice. This was our first time with the Prince. Not with Legolas but the Crown Prince, Laerion, loved by all, especially his brother.

Legolas was as flighty then as he can be now when he is happy. He was light and joy; it would make your heart sing just to see him. A fine warrior with promise but distractible and impossible to cage. He had been held back because of it, and because the King could not bear the thought of his youngest—so full of light, so untainted by the dark—venturing south. Legolas argued, pleaded and, in the end, sulked, before the King would change his mind.

Laerion was as bad as Thranduil. He would not trust his wild, erratic brother to any other commander, not in the south. He argued long and aggressively with the King, who had grave misgivings of his sons traveling in the same patrol. They should not be in the darkest places of our lands together.

But the King could refuse Laerion nothing, and in the end he relented. Just this once—for Legolas' first patrol—Laerion could take command. He was clear it would never happen again—and it never did.

And all went well at first, but we did not anticipate Legolas' connection to the trees. It was always special. They cried to him, he said to me one night as we walked amongst them; he could feel their pain, see their tears at the darkness that enfolded them. I should have told someone. I should have gone to Laerion and we could have pulled him back, removed him from the south until he had been trained to ignore them... I was young and foolish; I did not realise the danger this posed and nor did he, so I said nothing.

It was a simple mistake, a moment of inattention in battle. As the trees wailed, he listened and lost his focus.

It cost him his brother.

For Laerion had his eyes on Legolas, and when he saw him stumble, stepped in front. He loved his small brother like no other and would never let him fall. The arrow meant for Legolas struck Laerion's heart instead, and he was gone. One moment our bright, shining leader, the next dead on the forest floor.

Our Golden Prince.

It took three men to remove Legolas from his brother 's body. He cried and screamed and would not let him go. He was a broken child.

But when they had done so—when the brothers were finally separated—then Legolas disappeared. He was there but he was not, curled in a ball; he acknowledged no one. He would not talk, would not eat, would not move. He walked paths in his mind we could not reach.

And so we returned to the palace —one prince dead, the other lost to us. I will never forget my King 's face that day. He blamed himself and he still does.

They took Legolas into the palace and the healers, and we did not see him for months. The rumors were that the Queen was the only one who could reach him. He did return, eventually, t o our unit, to fight again but he was quiet and still, withdraw and solemn. Many years did it take for the Legolas of light to show himself again. We do not speak of it, him and I, but now I wish we had, for how will I ever find him now?

"Take Taenor," I say to Erynion. "I will tend to Legolas."

I know that some of this blood at least must be my beloved; I saw him take the blow.

He does nothing as I care for him. He is an empty shell. I know I cause him pain but he does not flinch. He does not respond to my touch or my voice as I stroke the hair from his face and whisper my love. I tell him it is all right but I know it is not.

The wound is deep and nasty; I am sure there is poison for it bleeds more than I would like, and takes me far too long to get some control. Legolas is silent as I pull him to his feet; silent as I lead him to the horse which will carry us home. It is only when we ride, with the wind in my face and Legolas slumped against me, his head lolling back on my shoulder, that I cry. Nobody can see, nobody will know, and the tears—for Taenor, for Laerion, for Legolas—fall. I cannot stop them.

They take him from me the instant we arrive. They are so possessive, the healers, with the ones we love. They clutch them to their chests and shut us out so we must wait, pacing the halls until they deign to give us news.

I will not pace. I will not sit and wait as if I am their pawn.

Instead, I go with Erynion to speak with Taenor's family. It is a hard job and one I hate every time I must do it, but I do it for Legolas; we both do—Erynion as his second and I as his lover, for Legolas and I are a pair, and as much as there is discord between us now, our people still see us united. They expect this from me and I will not let him down. Neither of us talk of Legolas and the worry that is on our minds until we are done.

It is as we make our way to the halls, miserable and depressed, that Erynion brings it up.

"He is as he was before."

He does not need to explain. I know what he means.

"What shall we do?"

"I don't know!" I react with anger, for I am tired. "Why do you ask me this? I do not know the workings of his mind!"

"You know them better than the rest of us."

"I used to, maybe, but not any more. Not for a long time."

He tries again—Erynion is nothing if not stubborn and determined.

"I think we should call for Elessar."

I turn on him in astonishment.

"What? Why? Why do you say that? What business is this of his?"

"They are close. He is a great healer. You know this, taught by Lord Elrond himself."

I will not listen to this. I cannot _believe_ he even contemplates it.

"Does he know _anything_ of Laerion? Of what Legolas was like then? I do not think so. He may have been taught by the Noldor, but he is still a Man. You would betray Legolas by telling his secrets without permission?"

"Well, he can hardly give permission himself! Perhaps they have discussed it."

I roll my eyes for that suggestion is ridiculous.

"He has never discussed it with me, yet you think he will have spoken about it to a _Man?_ "

"Maewen, it is no reflection on you if he has. Sometimes it is easier to talk to those who are...not so close."

I am heartsick and weary and I cannot hear more of this. I turn my back to him and stride away.

"No!" I shout back over my shoulder. "You will not do this."

But I do not for a minute think it is the last I will hear of it.

I head to Legolas' rooms. Surely the healers will be finished by now. I am furious, my stomach churning, and it is possibly not the best time to visit, but I need to see him, however he may be.

I yearn for it.

Perhaps he will be awake and himself again; perhaps it was an aberration, this stillness, caused by the poison and they will have cured him of it already.

I do not even believe it myself.

Of course he is not, for that would be too easy, and my life is never easy. .

They let me in, reluctantly I think. He is asleep, but it is not a natural sleep for his eyes are closed. They must have given him something. I wonder why when he was so already so passive anyway.

I look to the healer for answers.

"How is he?" I look to towards the pale still figure on the bed.

"The wound is survivable. There is poison which will hold him back, and he has lost much blood, but he will recover."

I had never thought he would not. It is not the wound that worries me.

"And the rest?"

I do not need to elaborate—the healer knows what it is I mean.

"Perhaps it is shock. I understand Taenor's death was traumatic."

He annoys me—why do they beat about the bush? Why do they always avoid the truth? In the end it achieves nothing.

" _You_ know and _I_ know that it is more than that."

He sighs and gives up.

"In truth, we do not know how long it will last, or how to reach him. If he is no better when he wakes I will call our King to come. Of all who are left here, it will be him who can most likely reach Legolas."

I do not know why that disappoints me. It is only what I had expected to hear.

So I sit beside him and I do what I can—I watch him as he sleeps and stroke his hair; I tell him I love him for I do, and my heart aches with the pain of being helpless. It should be I who can help him. They should call on me

But although I love him I no longer understand him and my love is not enough. I think back to the days when we did not spend our time in arguments. When he did not leave me behind to be with mortals who will only hurt him anyway. When he would tell me anything and I, him.

He was the sun around which my life circled. He still is.

But life has changed us.

It seems so long ago now, and I wonder if we will ever get it back.


	3. Chapter 3

When Legolas opens his eyes I hold my breath.

Will it be him that looks back at me or will it be that same dead blankness?

He blinks slowly and frowns in response to the light before he turns his head towards me.

"Where am I?"

Slowly I release my breath. He is talking, that has to be good.

"You are home." Gently I take his hand in mine.

"In Ithilien," I quickly add for we have another home far from here and if he is confused I do not want him to think he is there.

He pulls his hand away from mine and snakes it across his chest exploring the bandages wrapped around him.

"It was not a dream," he sighs quietly and it breaks my heart.

"No, it was not a dream." I am unsure what to say for I do not want to upset him, I do not want a return to that state of numbness now I have a glimpse of him returned. Then he asks me the one question I wish he wouldn't.

"Where is Taenor?"

I reclaim his hand as I search for the right words to say this, but there are no right words. I will just have to tell him the truth and hope for the best.

"He is dead Legolas, we could not save him, I am sorry."

"I know that." He turns his head away, "But where is he, is he home?"

"He is with his family, do not worry, we have cared for him as you would want." He seems strangly detached and it worries me.

He pushes me off again and I cannot deny it hurts that he rejects my comfort. It seems a sign of how far apart we have grown and despite myself my eyes prick with tears. I am not weak. I am not one to cry over small things. Only Legolas can make me do that and it frustrates me that still he has this power over me.

He pulls himself to sit, his face grimacing in pain as he does so and I feel relief at that, not that he is in pain but that he feels it, instead of the placid acceptance of the day before. But before I can stop him, he swings his feet over the side of the bed and goes to stand.

"What are you doing?" I cry, grabbing at his arm. "You need to rest Legolas!"

I need not have worried, he does not have the strength to stay on his feet and after swaying briefly, falls back clumsily on the bed.

"I need to see them," he says, face screwed up with pain and frustration. "Taenor's family, I need to ... I should speak with them."

"It is alright, Erynion and I have seen them for you. When you are well you can go. Not now."

He looks up at me, startled.

"You have done that for me?"

"Of course I have." How can he be surprised at that? How can he not know I have his back in all things still?

I notice then his hands and how they shake as they sit in his lap. He is not as recovered as I first thought. I cover them once again with my own and hold them still.

"You need to rest Legolas, so you can heal. Please do not fight it."

I am not sure he even hears me.

"This was my fault," he whispers, "All my fault, it is just the same. All this time and I have learnt nothing." I know then he thinks of Laerion.

"It is not, Legolas. It was a stray arrow. I did not sense it, he did not-"

But he is crying, tears pouring down his face and it frightens me. Legolas never cries. Even when his mother left I did not see it. Except for that terrible screaming at Laerion's death, that is the last time I saw tears from Legolas.

"The sea was on the breeze, It is so insistent, I tried to ignore it but in the end I allowed it to distract me," It is hard to catch his words as he weeps. So that was why he stumbled.

"You cannot control the sea," I say, "We all know that. Do not blame yourself." and I try to wipe his tears away.

"It will never leave me alone. It weighs me down Maewen. I am so tired."

He has never spoken to me of the sea like this. He says so little of it, dismisses it as if it is nothing when I ask. It sits between us as an unspoken barrier. What can I say? I don't know how to help him.

"You could sail? I would go with you."

"No!"

His refusal of my suggestion is so aggressive and I wonder, is it sailing, or just sailing with me he is so opposed to?

He lifts his hands from where I hold them, staring at them as he does so.

"All this blood," he says, "Can you see it? My hands are covered in blood."

"No," I lift his hand to my face so it cups my cheek,

"There is no blood Legolas, see, no blood. Do not do this, Taenor would not want it. He would not want you to blame yourself."

Then he collapses against me and my arms are around him holding him close as he cries out his grief and guilt. I do not know the right words to say. I only make things worse, but this I _can_ do. I can hold him.

Legolas sleeps a lot.

The healers were right and the poison holds him back, it drains his energy leaving him no reserves. He is frustrated and angry and oh so difficult to be around.

Everything I do is wrong.

I say the wrong words, I am there at the wrong time, and I am not there when he wants me. I find myself looking forward to the times he sleeping. Then I can sit with him and tell him I love him without tangling myself in knots, I can touch him without being pushed away in rejection, I can be with him and pretend we are not tearing ourselves apart.

I think of our days in the sun, when I did not need to speak and he would know my thoughts. When we were together always and happy, no matter that our home was under siege and our lives full of danger. I remember returning to the halls from a patrol and the joy with which he greeted me, as if his world revolved around me. I could not get enough of him then, and now? Now I have to wait until he sleeps to be close to him, for while he is asleep we cannot hurt each other. As soon as he awakes it all falls apart.

Three days after our return I find him in his room at his desk surronded by shredded, discarded paper and simply from his posture I know he is upset. Briefly I consider walking past, pretending I haven't seen him but I cannot do that.

"What are you writing?"

He looks up in surprise at my question but it is only brief moments before the frown settles on his face.

"Writing to my father." He sighs then and pushes the paper away from him.

"I cannot do this Maewen. How do I tell him I have caused the loss of someone else he loves?"

He writes to his father about Taenor, no wonder he struggles. Thank goodness I did not walk by and leave him to it.

"He will not think that." I try to soothe him but it is unsuccessful.

"I think it!"

We have been over this so many times, that he should not blame himself but still he does. I do not want to go down that path again for it will get us nowhere and it will not help him write. We will simply end up shouting at each other so this time I ignore it.

Instead I hold out my hand.

"Let me see what you have written."

I pull up a chair and sit down beside him, taking the letter from in front of him. It is a mess. Legolas is not the best at letter writing on a good day. He resents having to sit still long enough to write them.

When he was on the quest I recieved some, from Imladris and Lothlorien, and Gondor at the end. They kept me going through the long separation but they were not great works of poetry, he did not pour out his love for me on paper, if I wanted that I needed to find another man to write them. No, Legolas writes about the strangest things, what chanced to be in front of him at the time, stories of stuffy Noldor elves, of the dwarf and the odd little hobbits who accompanied him and they made me laugh. It was as if I opened his letters and Legolas himself fell out. I have kept them all.

His letter to his father is stilted and uncomfortable. There is no Legolas here. Thranduil will read this and come running and perhaps that is not a bad thing.

"Do you want him to come here?" I ask carefully.

"Yes," he says, his head in his hands, "I want him here, I do."

"Then ask him, Legolas. Write this letter and ask him to come, you know he will."

His reaction startles me as he pushes back his chair and leaps to his feet. Once again I have said the wrong thing and he is angry.

"Do you think I cannot do this?" he cries, "Do you think I need my hand held like a child, that I cannot lead by myself. Now Taenor is gone I need my father to help me? I know he only sent Taenor because he did not think I could do this myself."

"He sent Taenor because he could not bear to let you go. He always believed you could lead us. You cannot blame him for wanting to keep you safe." But he will not listen to reason.

"I thought you out of everyone might have faith in me," he snaps.

"I _do_ have faith in you. You know I do Legolas." I hold him by the shoulders to calm him down, to make sure that he hears me.

"It is no weakness to want your father if you are unhappy. No matter how old we are sometimes we still need them. There is no reason you cannot write to him and ask for him. That doesn't mean you are not our leader here. You are still his son, he is still your father. Even though you are our Prince and he is our King."

He will have none of it though. Although he calms, and least shouts at me no longer, he will not write asking for help. The best I can do is to write the letter with him, it is full of sadness and regret but there is no hint of the elf filled with despair and misery that he has become. Thranduil will remain completely ignorant of how much his son needs him, unless I write to him and my fear at what that may do to our relationship holds me back. We are hanging by a thread as it is. If I go behind Legolas' back and write to his father - I think it will be our deathknell.

I am not ready to let go of him yet,


	4. Chapter 4

I am alone when the messenger arrives to tell us Faramir has come.

Legolas and Erynion are with Taenor's family. Legolas finally has the strength to visit, but he does not want me.

"I will go with you," I said to him when he announced his intentions, but he would have none of it.

"I will take Erynion. You have done enough."

His words are sharp and curt and I am left feeling that, in fact, I have not done enough at all, that I have let him down; he finds me wanting and Erynion will be a better support for him than I. It hurts but I say nothing. I am not about to argue with him before he does this. That would be cruel. Instead I file it away in the box in my head where I keep all the hurts he causes me. .

So it is that when Faramir comes I am the only one to welcome him. We were not expecting him.

I have met Faramir before and I like him.

Of all Legolas' mortal friends he is the one who makes most sense to me. He is gentle and kind; he does not place expectations upon Legolas. He does not lead him to the sea or plead with him not to sail. They talk of ordinary things and support each other in this new land and I can see Legolas relax in his company.

We have been to Emyn Arnen many times, Legolas and I.

I know Faramir's wife. In times past she was a shieldmaiden who rode to war. She is much like me and I think I understand her. She does not spend her days embroidering pretty things or arranging flowers in jars instead of leaving them alive in the earth, what is the point of that?

I can talk to her.

They know of us. Faramir and Eowyn. Of all Legolas' mortal friends they are the only ones who know because I do not need to hide from them. We are happy in Emyn Arnen, when we are there it is as if time recedes and we are the same again. We are ourselves.

"Maewen!" Faramir greets me with a smile and immediately my heart feels lighter. I am glad he is here. He clasps my arm in welcome.

"How is Legolas?"

"He is..."

I struggle to find the words to describe the chaos that is Legolas at the moment. In the end I give up.

"Taenor's death has hit him hard."

"Of course," Faramir says gently, and moves his hand to my shoulder.

"and how are _you_?"

It completely undoes me for until now no one has asked me how I am. It has been all about Legolas; of course it has. I have not even taken the time to ask myself...how am I?

I am sad, grieving and lonely. I miss Taenor's steady hand and calming presence, I miss his advice, his quiet way of keeping Legolas in the here and now, and most of all I miss Legolas.

I open my mouth to answer him and suddenly, unbidden, my eyes are filled with tears.

"Forgive me," I mumble, for this is not how I would want to greet him. What kind of warrior am I?

"You do not have to apologise for the pain of loss to me." His voice is soft and gentle and takes the edges off the jagged hurt I feel.

"Faramir!"

It is Legolas' voice that startles us out of our conversation, and I turn my head to watch as he strides across the courtyard towards us. He looks terrible; pale and hollow-eyed he is obviously exhausted. Faramir sees it too because I hear the sharp intake of his breath beside me.

But Legolas is smiling and it is the first smile I have seen from him in days. He is as happy as I am to have Faramir's company. When he reaches us Faramir envelops him in a hug and Legolas accepts it. It is strange the hugs these mortals bestow upon each other. I do not think I will ever get used to it.

"I am so sorry Legolas—" Faramir tries to offer condolences but Legolas stops him with a raised hand.

"Stop, Faramir. It is too fresh—I do not want to hear it."

I glance at Erynion then, and taking advantage of Legolas' distraction in welcoming his guest, I whisper,

"How did it go?"

"It was tortuous. But he survived it, stubborn creature that he is."

That does not reassure me.

"I have a message from Aragorn," Faramir is saying. " I have not told him of your news. I did not think it my place. Have you sent word to him?"

Erynion glares at me for at my insistence he did not inform the King of Gondor. Unless Legolas has done it—and I do not think he has—then Aragorn will not know what has transpired here.

"I have not yet..." For some strange reason Legolas looks uneasy. "What does he want?"

"He is concerned about these incursions by the Haradrim, even before he knows of this latest one. He wants to see us both in Minas Tirith. He thinks we need a more... coordinated approach. I head there now." He gives Legolas an appraising glance. "If we discuss it tonight I can represent you."

I am relieved to hear he does not expect Legolas to go.

"I will go for you Legolas," Erynion says hastily and Legolas frowns and shakes his head.

"I will go." It is the tone he uses when he will not be questioned.

"You are not well!" Erynion says in alarm and looks to me for support but I look the other way, I will not argue with Legolas here in public, in front of Faramir.

"We can arrange something without you." Faramir seems just as anxious but Legolas is having none of it.

"I am well enough!" and the glare he gives Erynion says he should hold his tongue.

"I will come with you Faramir." And he turns on his heels.

"Come. " He waves a hand imperiously in the air as only he can do. "Let me find a room for you. Erynion, see to Faramir's men."

We have been dismissed. He will not be listening to reason today.

It is late when I finally call in to Legolas' rooms—our rooms—but often they do not feel like mine any longer. He is there and he is packing. He has not let go of this ridiculous plan to travel to Gondor.

I would not raise my voice to him out in the courtyard, much to Erynion's displeasure, but I will say my piece now.

"You cannot be serious about this, Legolas."

"I am deadly serious." He does not even turn around to look at me.

"You do not even have the strength to cross the room let alone ride across Gondor."

"It is only a days ride. I will be with Faramir. You and Erynion overstate the danger." He has an answer for every argument and suddenly I have had enough.

I am tired, so very tired. Tired of caring for him while he pushes me away. Tired of trying to make everything right for him when it feels as if nothing will ever be right again, and in that moment it all spills out.

"Elessar has snapped his fingers and you will come running. Is that how it will always be, Legolas? You have no care for us, your people. We are no longer important are we? When you can have these mortals."

He turns on me then, eyes flashing with anger. He reminds me of Thranduil but it does not frighten _me._

"How dare you!" His voice is hard and clipped.

"How dare you question my loyalty to our people. I go to Minas Tirith so their voice can be heard. Always, always it comes down to this; your petty jealousy, your uneducated prejudice, and I am sick of it. Who are you? Where is the Maewen I used to love?"

...the Maewen I _used_ to love...it is a body blow but although the words tear me apart I am too angry to stop now.

"I am right here!" I cry throwing my arms out wide. "It is not I who have changed. It is you, and now I am not mortal enough for you. Perhaps you wish you were peredhel so you could actually become one?"

The look he gives me then is cold. It chills me to the bone.

"I have to ask myself, do you love me at all, Maewen? Did you _ever_ love me?"

He turns his back on me.

He cuts me off, with those words, and his actions. It is my worst nightmare, the thing I have been most frightened of ever since he returned to me so changed. Despite his words how could he possibly love me still?

But I have gone too far, I know I have. If I am hurting then he is more so. How can I say such vicious things when he is grieving?

All I know is I cannot let him do this. I cannot let him go to Minas Tirith with only Men for company. They do not know him, even Faramir. They will not care for him, not as we do. He will tell them nothing even if he is struggling. He will run himself into the ground rather than show them any weakness. And so I swallow my damaged pride.

"Do not be such a fool Legolas. Take Erynion with you at least," I plead. I am not above begging him for favours or using blackmail when I need to, when it might be the only way I gain his compliance. "For your Father's sake if not for mine." I say, ignoring his question, and I watch his shoulders slump.

"I need Erynion here."

The fight has suddenly drained out of his voice and he is left despondent. What was I thinking? Why did I say such things? I am ashamed and in my shame my mouth runs away with me before I can stop it.

" _I_ will go."

The words hang heavy in the silence that falls between us, then when he says nothing I repeat them.

"I will go with you to Minas Tirith."

He spins around then to face me with astonishment.

"You said you would never go there."

"I have changed my mind." I lift up my chin and look him in the eyes with a challenge. Now that I have said it he will not sway me on this.

"You said you would hate it, that a city of stone such as that would suffocate your spirit."

"I have been other places I have not liked. I did not enjoy Dol Goldor much if I remember rightly."

"And what if I do not allow it?"

"Then I will follow you on my own, and you _know_ that I will."

I see it then, the very briefest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth before he turns back to his packing. I stand still and wait as the silence slowly lengthens, watching as he folds this and that into what are strangely organised piles for Legolas. He is delaying; he is wasting time.

"Thank you."

The words are strangled out of his mouth as if he has been forced into it. I think only I alone know what it has cost him to say that, as he alone knows what it will cost me to go to the City of Men.

I wait a second longer, until I am sure that is all he has to say and I watch him, my beloved, who I have just hurt to the core—and who has hurt me—how ever can we stop this?

"I _do_ love you Legolas."

And I turn and walk away, shutting the door behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

And so I find myself on the road to Minas Tirith. A place I never wanted to visit.

Legolas and I do not mention the angry words of the day before, we ignore it, pretend it didn't happen. But they are there, between us, and I cannot let them go.

 _Where is the Maewen I used to love..._ It echoes in my mind step after step after step. Does this mean he loves me no longer? I am too scared to ask.

We approach the city, it looms above us from the road ahead. It is beautiful, yes, but also cold, foreign and intimidating. I wish I was anywhere but here.

"It is not as bad as you think."

Legolas pulls his horse abreast of me, and I assume he is trying to comfort but I am having none of it. Anxiety makes me difficult.

"What makes you believe you have any idea what I think?" The words spill out of me in a bitter rush.

"I used to." He says quietly, and I turn to look at him.

He is tired and it is stark upon his face. He was not fit for this journey and he has paid a heavy price but he refused to let us slow our pace though Faramir and I watch him with concern. He seems terribly vulnerable now and my heart twists within me. Can I not even throw him a bone of kindness? I resolve to try harder.

"Forgive me." I say, although my voice is stilted. "It is so different. It makes me uneasy, I am sorry." I am not sure if I am apologising for my words of before, or the mess of last night, or perhaps every single cross word and misunderstanding that lies between us since he has returned from the war.

He reaches across the gap between us and his fingers brush lightly against my arm.

They burn. He can still light me on fire.

"I will be here," he says although he sounds as if he doubts that will be a comfort to me.

It makes me want to cry, thinking on the wreckage that is left of us.

Sometimes I think the kindest thing I could do for both of us would be to retreat, back to the Greenwood so it was not so obvious, always, how far we have fallen. So we could move on and be free. But I cannot bear to be apart from him, no matter how miserable I am.

For now I turn my face towards the city.

"Well let us get this over with" I say as I urge my horse onwards, and he follows. His words of comfort left behind, ignored, as if I have no use for them.

They take us to a room where we must wait for the King. This annoys me. Do they not know who we are? Faramir is their steward, Legolas, the son of the Elvenking, but they would make us wait? Can they not see he is unwell? Can they not see the weariness upon his face?

I pace the small room in annoyance.

"Peace, Maewen, Aragorn will be here soon enough."

Legolas has lowered himself into a chair and now he seeks to calm me.

"How can you bear this place?" I snap. "How do you breathe? Have they never heard of windows? Surely I will choke in here!"

"You get used to it. You will not choke." He says wearily and the tiredness on his voice snaps me out of my cantankerous mood. I am supposed to be here watching out for him.

"We should call a healer for you. Do they have anybody who will know of elves?" I ask Faramir anxiously and he smiles.

"Aragorn," he replies, "Believe me, he will not leave Legolas alone when he sees him like this."

And Legolas scowls.

"I do not need a healer-" but he is interrupted in his attempt to convince us of his wellness by the opening door.

It is the King-of course.

"Faramir!"

It is Faramir he sees first and his face lights up, it shines. He is handsome I will give him that. Not beautiful like Legolas but still there is something about him. I can see why Men hold him in such high esteem.

"Forgive me the wait," he continues, "They should have taken you straight to your rooms and I would have met you there. They are so bound up in protocol."

And he isn't? That confuses me for our King is a stickler for protocol. Isn't that what Kings do?

"Never mind Aragorn," Faramir smiles, "We have survived it. If it keeps them happy who are we to argue." He basks in the Kings aura. He seems...quite unlike Faramir, quite unlike the unassuming Faramir I know.

Elessar then moves his gaze to Legolas, who has dragged himself to his feet. If he seeks to cover his exhaustion he is failing for he is pale, dark eyed, and haggard. The King notices it instantly.

"What has happened to you?" He asks in alarm and he crosses to the room to Legolas' side.

"What have you done?" He places his hand on Legolas' shoulder as if to steady him.

"It is nothing," Legolas mumbles ungraciously, "Lingering poison from a minor wound that is all."

A _minor_ wound? I wonder if he has lost his mind. It was not minor by any stretch of the imagination.

"And yet you decided to ride here in this condition? Are you mad? Are you both mad?" His gaze sweeps round to include Faramir in that last statement,

"You asked for me to come." Legolas says stubbonly, eyes flashing.

"Not like this and you know it. Seriously Legolas do you have the brains you were born with?"

I do not know how to feel about him, he is confusing me. Should I be angry he is insulting my Prince or grateful he upbraids him for his foolish behaviour.

He lets his gaze drift over me and I see a question in his eyes. A question he soon gives voice to and it is then it all falls apart.

"Where is Taenor? Do not tell me he has let you out of his sight in this condition. Has he lost his mind?"

Legolas freezes, we all freeze.

His eyes are wide, I see the deadness creeping in, and I know what he sees. I know what memory accosts his mind. Taenor dead, white, still and staring, and the blood, the blood everywhere, so much blood.

I try, too late, to protect him. I do not want him to have to speak the words.

"He is dead." I say and my voice is cold, bitter...cruel.

As I say the words Legolas moves, he gasps, and pushes Elessar out of the way, so he can run blindly from the room.

"Legolas!" I cry, but before I can follow, Elessar and Faramir are gone after him in front of me.

He does not go far. We find him on his knees in the corridor, shoulders heaving as he is violently ill.

Oh, my Love. How can I help you?

I cannot reach him for Elessar is there, on his knees beside him, arm around those heaving shoulders, one hand holding the long hair of pale gold clear.

"Oh Legolas," he murmers, "Why did I not know this?"

"The death was quite...traumatic" Faramir says to him, his forehead creased with concern.

"And you did not see fit to tell me either." Aragorn replies to him and his words then have an edge of bitterness and anger but Faramir keeps his cool.

"It was not my place."

"Forgive me." Legolas says quietly as the spasms that wrack his body subside.

"This is hardly becoming."

I wonder why he thinks any of us care... When he is so distressed why would we care for appearances? It is Elessar who speaks my thoughts aloud.

"There is nothing to apologise for Legolas, unless it is keeping secrets. Do you think I am so shallow as to care about a mess in the hall in this situation?"

"No. I know you are not." Legolas' voice is barely a whisper, as if he does not even have the energy to breathe, let alone speak and Aragorn hauls him to his feet.

"Come with me." He says and it is the voice of a King, the voice of someone who will not be argued with. A voice that will make even someone as recalcitrant as Legolas obey.

"Let me clean you up and make you decent, and we will see exactly how _minor_ this wound actually is."

He marches him down the corridor and Legolas does not look back, his eyes do not search for me. He leaves me standing there, surrounded by stone...alone.

Well not completely alone, for Faramir is there and he takes my hand as I stand forlornly gazing after the two of them.

"He will look after him." He smiles at me, "Come, I will find Arwen. She will know the best place to put you."

"The best place to put me?"

"Your room," he replies, "You can hardly go in Taenor's for it is next to Legolas."

"I would like to be next to Legolas." I say. Where else do they think I would want to be?

"I am sure you would," his smile becomes a grin, "but as you heard, they are very uptight here and that would not do at all. Arwen will find you a room in the woman's wing."

"Why?" I cannot understand his reasoning, "What do they think we would do?"

"Exactly what you _would_ do, I presume." He laughs, and I am left wondering what he means for what could we possibly do that would bother them so?

Arwen Undómiel is as beautiful as they say she is. She shines, she glows, she is luminous.

She greets me warmly with no hint of superiority, as if I am a long lost friend and it is quite normal for her to associate with wood elves. I, however, am overawed and tongue-tied and I hate myself for it. I stumble over my words and keep my gaze to the floor. She must think I am half wit. She is no better than me, I keep telling myself, but somehow I cannot convince myself to believe it.

She shows me to a beautiful room but it is far away from Legolas. I have no idea where he is and I am lost without him.

"How can I find Legolas?" I ask her.

"I will let him know where you are." She smiles, "Do not worry, Estel is with him and we will guard him well. He is quite safe without his elven guard while he is here. I know Taenor insisted he be next to him, but really there is no need."

I realise then that is all she thinks I am, a guard, a solider doing her duty. Not a loved one, someone precious, a beloved. Perhaps she is right. Perhaps that _is_ all I am.

"We will have dinner in the study," she continues, "I will send someone to fetch you. Rest well while you can."

And with a smile she leaves.

I am left on my own, in this strange and alien place and without Legolas I feel vulnerable, almost frightened. It is silly I know, no harm will come to me here but this place is so strange, the people so different and I don't know where he is.

I want him, I want to go to him, to have him hold me and tell me all is well. But I cannot find him, and as his words from our argument the night before come back to haunt me I wonder...would he want me even if I could?

I am so alone. It is as I thought it would be.

I hate this place.


	6. Chapter 6

Darkness 6

I am caught in the middle of a nightmare.

I have rested, I have washed the dirt of the road from my face and now I attempt to dress for dinner.

My clothes lie spread across the bed before me but none of them will do, none of them are suitable. I will walk in that room with the beautiful Arwen Undómiel and I will look like a tramp. I can feel the panic rising up within me. Why didn't Legolas tell me to bring something more suitable? Well I am truly losing my mind if I look to Legolas to provide clothing advice.

A knock on the door interrupts my hopeless task and my heart pounds in my chest. It will be the Page sent to fetch me. I am not ready. What should I do? I can certainly not go in my underwear.

Before I can even think about moving the door swings open—why did I not lock it? What is wrong with these people that they walk into others rooms uninvited?

Thankfully it is not the page.

It is Legolas.

He is improved, his face has colour once again, his eyes are bright, and he smiles. I frown as I wonder exactly what magic the King has worked upon him for he is not at all the weary, sickening elf Elessar led away from us.

"Are you not ready?" he asks me.

"Ready? No! I have nothing to wear..." My panic spills out into the room. "Why did you not tell me she was so beautiful!" I cry. I do not even think to ask him how he is.

"Who?" He is genuinely confused at that.

"Arwen. Who else?"

"She is the Evenstar. You knew that. I did not have to tell you, and what does this have to do with the reason you are not dressed?"

"Legolas, look at these..." I through my arms out to indicate the pile of dresses before me. "Imagine how they will make me look."

And his smile widens. When he smiles like that he takes my breath away.

"You will make my heart sing," he says simply.

And I, turning back to the rejected clothing, distracted by my anxiety, let the words slip out of my mouth before I can think better of it.

"I did not know I did that any more."

A wave of confusion passes over his face. He does not understand me.

"Why do you say that?" There is genuine mystification there.

I look at him then, truly look at him. What do I say? The truth?

"We...you...There is so much wrong between us Legolas. I did not know you still felt that."

His eyes widen and he walks towards me, cups my face in his hand, strokes my cheek with his finger.

"Beloved," his breath is warm on my face and he says it like a prayer. "It is not that bad is it?"

Can he mean that? Does he truly not understand how bad it is? I open my mouth and I tell him. I open the box of hurts in my head, delve in and they all come tumbling out.

"Why did you not take me with you to see Taenor's family? Why did you choose Erynion? In the past we would have done that together. You push me away Legolas and it hurts!"

"I told you!" He drops his hand and I am cold without it.

"You had done enough."

"You mean I was _not_ enough."

"No." his voice is firm and controlled, "I mean you had _done_ enough. You have worn yourself out looking after me. You took no rest, Do you think I did not know that? It was a hard thing to do, seeing them. I wanted to protect you. Elbereth, Maewen, you make it so hard to look after you sometimes."

"I don't need looking after," I say sulkily.

"I don't care what you think you need," he spits back, "I love you, I want to look after you. It is what I do."

"If you love me..." The hurts keep coming. Now I have started I cannot stop, "... why do you not speak to me of the sea? Why do you keep it secret? Do you not trust me? I do not understand it and so I do not understand you, and you tell me nothing...nothing! You tell the dwarf, you tell Faramir, but not me!"

"The sea.." his shoulders slump as if he is weighed down by just the mention of it. "The sea is insidious, it winds it's way into everything, every part of my life. I wanted something sacred, something it could not touch. I wanted to keep you, to keep us, where it could not reach us."

The ironic thing is by doing that he has guaranteed the sea has helped destroy us.

"I make you unhappy Legolas, when I used to make you smile. You run away from me. You leave me behind, you choose your new friends over me. There is no space left for me."

"I do not want to choose!" He cries, his control finally broken. "I should not have to but you leave me no option. I love them, I love you, but you will not come with me. You will not try to know them and my time with them is short. What do you expect me to do?" He throws his hands in the air in frustration.

"Is it any surprise I am unhappy?"

So he has said it. He _is_ unhappy. He is unhappy with _me_.

"I thought.." my voice wavers but I plough ahead before I lose my courage. "I have thought, maybe I should go back to the Greenwood. Then you would not have to choose, then you could be happy."

The look on his face is one of pure horror.

"You would _leave_ me?"

For a moment we can only stare at each other. Then before I know it he has me in his arms, my head upon his shoulder. He holds me tight, so tight I almost cannot breathe.

"Do not leave me Maewen, please," he says, "I am Legolas Thranduilion, I do not beg, but I will beg this of you. Do not go, please do not go. Without you I have no light. I will not see them if it will keep you here. I will not..."

His words tumble out in a desperate, garbled rush.

I should feel triumphant. This is what I have wished for these long years since the war. That he will put them aside and truly come back to me. To only me, to the way it was.

Instead I feel sick.

I have turned into someone I do not recognise, that I would ask this of him. I know he loves them, these mortals. He calls Elessar, Brother, and he means it. How can I expect him to give up another brother when he has already lost one? Who am I if I allow him to do this? No wonder he asks where Maewen has gone.

If I let him give them up I will hate myself, and in the end he will hate me too.

I am crying and I cannot stop. My tears soak into his tunic and I wish they would wash away the stain upon my soul, the darkness in my heart. He is right, he knows me so well. I am jealous.

"No." I pull back, out of his embrace and I see there are tears upon his face also. He has never cried for me, or because of me. I have done this to him.

"You will not give them up Legolas." It is, perhaps, the hardest thing I have ever had to say.

"I will try... I will try to know them. I will come with you on your travels if you wish it—if you will help me. I will not leave you. _I cannot leave you_." The last is but a whisper.

I only hope I can do this. The words are hard to say, the doing of it will be even harder.

He reaches out, his fingers trace across my face, so softly the touch is barely there.

"You will do this for me?"

"I will do it for myself." For I must, I think, if I am to live with myself.

"I am sorry. I spent so long waiting for you and then you returned so changed, with mortals in tow. I have not understood, I am only now beginning to." I drop my head in shame.

He draws near and I feel his arms encircle me. It is not the desperate frightened embrace of before, this one is loving and gentle. This is what we have been missing between us, this soft and gentle love. He murmurs my name into my hair as he holds me.

"Maewen, beloved."

And all my hurts are washed away. His spirit surrounds me, it encompasses me with a love so deep it surely has no end. How can I be jealous of others when I am the one who has this.

Then suddenly he pulls away and breaks the spell. He is alight, eyes sparkling, fea glowing. He is transformed before my eyes into the Legolas of time gone by, the Legolas before Laerion, the Legolas of my childhood.

He dances over to the pile of clothes and pulls a dress out from right at the bottom, a deep turquoise beaded gown.

"Wear this!" His joy is so infectious I cannot help but smile in return.

"Why that one?" It is not what I would have chosen.

"Because it is my favourite." He says it with determination, as if that alone is reason enough and perhaps it is. Why should I not dress to please him and him alone. What does it matter what the Evenstar thinks of me, or these humans. It is Legolas who matters. Legolas and I.

And so I struggle into the dress in a rush for we are late. The Page arrives while I swear and curse whoever it was who designed dresses with so many fastenings but Legolas sends him on his way with a message to the King that we will be there shortly.

He sits behind me then and smooths the wild mess that is my hair, weaving intricate braids to control it. The feeling of his nimble fingers running through it, calms me for it is strangely intimate. I feel cherished, I feel loved, I feel as if nothing can defeat us for I have him on my side.

And when he is done and has surveyed the results of his labour, has turned me to and fro he smiles, a bright and brilliant smile that competes with the sun for its beauty and light. I bask in his admiration.

"You are beautiful," he whispers. "None will be looking at Arwen Undómiel tonight."

I almost believe him.

He clasps my hand and leads me through the corridors to where his friends await us. And strangely I am not afraid, my anxiety has evaporated on the breeze.

For I have him and he loves me.

I need nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

I hesitate outside the door, hit by a sudden attack of nerves. What if I can not do this? But Legolas is beside me, his arm around my waist and he propels me forward.

"There is nothing to worry about," his whispers in my ear, "Faramir, you know and Aragorn and Arwen are not that frightening. I promise you. And the Elrondionath may glare a lot but their bark is worse than their bite."

"They are here?" I cry in horror, "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because you would react like this," he smiles, "And now you have no time to worry on it." And he opens the door.

The room, which had been filled with casual chatter falls silent as all faces turn look at us, stood, as we are, in the doorway and the King leaps to his feet.

"Legolas!" To me he does not seem pleased. "I told you to rest!"

But Legolas is unfazed, he simply bows politely. I can feel his hand in the small of my back, holding me up.

"I have rested Aragorn, and now I am here."

Elessar sighs heavily and rolls his eyes,

"A few hours is not what I meant."

"But I was hungry." Legolas says, and he is earnest, like a child, but I know he is teasing, I can see the light in his eyes. He is in a dangerous mood.

"I was about to send food to your room."

"And now you do not have to bother." He steers me to a chair and we sit, and all the while, he is smiling at Elessar, a guileless smile, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. What is he up to?

"Are you not pleased to see me?" He tilts his head to side as if he is genuinely confused. I know he is not.

The King gives up. It is obvious he will get no sense out of Legolas, he turns his attention to me instead and despite myself I feel the flush of red creep over my cheeks.

"Forgive me," he says, " This is most rude of me. Welcome..." And I realise he does not know my name.

"Maewen," Legolas pipes up beside me. "I have been remiss, I have not introduced you. This is Elessar Telcontor, otherwise know as Aragorn, King of Gondor and Arnor. He has several other names, he rather collects them, shall I list them all?"

"Legolas..." The King is not in the mood I think, for teasing.

"Very well, then," Legolas smiles brightly, "Another day perhaps. Aragorn, meet Maewen, Lady of Ithilien, Warrior of the Woodland realm, Beloved of Legolas." The last he slips in as if it is nothing at all and he sits back in his chair folding his arms in satisfaction.

You could hear a pin drop.

"What?" Aragorn's mouth drops open.

And so Legolas begins again,

"Maewen, Lady of Ithilien, Warrior of the Woodland realm, Beloved of-"

Arwen lets out a shriek of joy, her hands flying to her mouth. All of a sudden she looks so girlish, so not like a Queen at all.

"Legolas! You have been hiding her from us." she cries.

"Well not hiding exactly..."

Legolas' eyes are dancing with merriment. He is enjoying this. I should be angry, I should be furious with him. He did not warn me he planned to do this, or ask my feelings and I have a more than sneaking suspicion he does this purely to play games with his friends, but he is happy. Happy, glowing, mischievous, as I have not seen him for such a long time and it is infectious, his joy. I cannot help but smile.

"How long has this been going on?" Aragorn leans forward, elbows on the table. He does not look joyful, he looks annoyed...hurt even.

"How long?" Legolas tilts his head to look at me, he does not seem concerned by Elessar's bad temper.

"Longer than you have been alive I think Aragorn."

And the King leans back in his chair with a thump.

"Longer than I have been alive..." He repeats it out loud as if he cannot believe it and Faramir giggles, he _giggles_ , at the other end of the table.

"Did you know this Faramir?" Elessar looks at him through narrowed eyes.

"It is not a secret in Ithilien," Faramir shrugs his shoulders sheepishly.

"And you did not tell me?"

"It was hardly my place Aragorn."

"You have been telling me that far too often today I think. Legolas is a bad influence."

"If you are only just discovering that now Brother you are sadly out of touch." It is one of the stern Sons of Elrond. I do not know which one.

"We have been telling you Legolas needs a firm hand for years."

He is joking...I think... Legolas takes it that way anyway for he laughs, a light, bright, burst of laughter and it warms my soul just to hear it. I watch him, here among his friends, eyes dancing, face alight, joyful, contented, bouyant. I wonder, is he always like this here? Have I been missing this, by refusing to come here? He seems happier than he does in Ithilien.

It doesn't seem right that should be so and I try not to think on it, less it hurts me. I try to simply enjoy him for it is like watching a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis. My Legolas is back.

Sadly it soon becomes obvious Elessar was right. A few hours rest was not enough for Legolas. Slowly his excitment ebbs away, his laughter fades, he becomes quieter and quieter and I am concerned.

The others it seems do not notice, they laugh and joke, in high spirits, and although they look often at us, at Legolas who has his arm round me, who is affectionate as he has not been for years, they do not see his tiredness and pallor. Except the King.

He reaches across the table, placing his hand upon Legolas' arm to get his attention.

"You are tired. Do not be a fool Legolas." He is stern and I feel uneasy, there is an undercurrent between them tonight, and Legolas' teasing earlier was a part of it.

"I can look after myself." Legolas snaps back, his voice just a bit harder, with a bit too much of an edge to be polite.

"Well it appears you cannot." Aragorn withdraws and confines himself to pointed glares in our direction. I think I have never been more uncomfortable, still he is right. Legolas is being foolish and I wonder why.

Eventually it becomes too much for me, his strength is fading, but I know from long experience that if I nag at him to leave he will dig his heels in and do the opposite. There is only one thing for it. I have not been with him so many years without learning how to manipulate him.

"When will it be polite to leave?" I whisper in his ear.

He shoots me a look that tells me he is on to me, but then I realise how tired he must be because he plays along. He will use me to get him out of here without making it obvious he does what Elessar suggested.

"It is early yet, are you fed up with their company already?" He counters but it is a token resistance for appearances only and he knows I can see right through him.

"I would prefer yours." I lean my head upon his shoulder, I will play this game with him if he needs to it save face. Sometimes slowly and gently is the way to handle Legolas. I think perhaps Elessar has not yet discovered that.

He lifts his hand absentmindedly and strokes my hair gently.

"Let me get you out of here then" he says and hauls himself to his feet.

"Forgive us," He directs his words to the gathering in general and pointedly not to Aragorn. "Things have been rather difficult in Ithilien and Maewen is tired. I will see her to her rooms."

" _Maewen_ is tired?" Aragorn's words carry a hint of sarcasm. Why does he just not let it go? Legolas is leaving which is what he wanted. Does he not know pointing out the obvious lie in the excuse will only make him stay. I think he has a lot to learn.

I stand hurriedly, before Legolas can react and stubbornly refuse to go, Elessar may not know him but I do.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," I say, "I am sorry I am fatigued." It makes me look weak but I do not care.

"It was our pleasure Maewen," I feel the brush of Arwens fea against mine. She understands, she knows the game Legolas and I play and she will help me get him out of here. I feel a rush of gratitude towards her.

As we retreat, Elessar calls after us,

"Legolas, look after yourself."

And I turn back to look at him, when Legolas does not. His face is etched with concern, he is worried. He only tries to care for Legolas but for some reason they are at odds tonight, I wonder why. Despite myself I am filled with a rush of compassion for the King. Legolas is enough to give you a headache when you do not handle him correctly.

The corridors confuse me. They all look the same and I do not know how anyone can find their way around. Legolas does however, he strides with purpose towards my rooms. He knows this place like the back of his hand. Suddenly I realise just how much of his life I have been missing out on.

"May I stay?" He asks when we arrive and I wonder why he feels the need to ask. Of course he can.

"I will have to leave at dawn," he continues as he strips off his shirt and throws himself on the bed. "They are obsessed about appearances here and being discovered in your rooms will only earn me another endless lecture from Aragorn. I do not need another."

"But we are together...and they know that now," I do not understand.

"Not together enough for them." he sighs, "It is best not to question it and just make them happy, I have found."

"Not together enough?" We are entwined with each other, our feas dance a dance of love. What can be closer than that?

"They do not see love as we do." He sounds so tired, "They are strange, you will get used to it."

How on earth does the Evenstar manage to survive here?

I sit next to him and run my hand questioningly over the crisp white bandages that decorate his torso. These are not elven.

"Aragorn's handiwork," he explains before I even ask, "He has confined me to the palace," and he lies down, hands behind his head.

"He was not happy with you this evening," I am tentative about asking but I want to know. I have never seen them together and it has not been what I imagined.

"And I am not happy with him either," he says, "He forgets himself. I am not a child that needs lecturing. He is my friend, not my father and sometimes he forgets that."

I cast my mind back to that glimpse of the worry on the Kings face as we left and still I feel sorry him. I know from long years of practice the weight of worrying about Legolas.

He is stubborn, he is erratic and he can be volatile. He spends no time looking after himself, only others, his friends, his people. Trying to keep him safe is so very difficult.

"He is concerned about you Legolas."

"I am sick of people's concern for me. It suffocates me, I can do without it and I do not want Aragorn's. He feels guilt over the sealonging and overcompensates endlessly. I wish he would let it go. I have been alive centuries longer than he, yet I do believe he thinks me barely older than Eldarion at times."

"Is that why you were teasing him?" I ask, "I should be angry with you. You did not tell me you would announce us to all and sundry!"

And through his tiredness he smiles,

"But you are not angry?" and I shake my head. Tonight I cannot be angry with him.

"Do not worry about Aragorn, he will get over it. It is how we always are." It is a strange friendship then I think and I wonder why they pursue it so determinedly. Still Legolas frequently confuses me, this is nothing new.

So I rise to undress and untwist the intricate braids in my hair and by the time I am done, by the time I am ready to fall into bed beside him, he is asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

True to his word Legolas departs at dawn. He wakes me with a kiss, whispers he loves me and then he is gone.

I am left alone with my thoughts.

I think back to yesterday and the ride here. My misery, my conviction we were falling apart, disintegrating before my eyes. Was I right? It seems so far away now and yet I am not sure what has changed. He has not, he is still weighed down by the sea and entwined with these strange mortals. He is still not the Legolas I fell in love with, the Legolas who left for Imladris but despite it all he loves me. He may have changed but his love has not. It is what he has been telling me all along.

And now I have to change. I only hope I can, I have to try and accept these people I do not know, I do not really want to know, into my life if I want to keep him in my life also. If I want him to be happy.

He does not return to escort me to breakfast as I thought he would. Instead an eager page knocks on my door telling me he has been sent by the Elven Prince. I cannot help but feel disappointed. Where is he?

He is not at breakfast either. When I arrive only the Royal family are there. Aragorn, Arwen and a child, a handsome child with curly brown hair, big eyes and a serious face. It must be Eldarion. Legolas has told me many tales about him. I know he loves him.

Elessar's face falls when he sees me alone. He is not pleased.

"Legolas is not with you?"

"I thought he would be here," I take my seat, trying not to take the Kings frowning face personally. A memory flashes through my mind, Legolas lying on the bed last night, "He has confined me to the palace" he said. I would not put it past him to be strolling around the city this morning just to prove to Elessar he will not be restrained, and I do believe the King is thinking exactly the same thing.

He runs his hand threw his hair in frustration and I see Arwen touch his arm gently.

"You can not cage him Estel. He will not allow that."

"Does he have no care for himself?" He replies, "It is a strange poison that affects him. He will not mend unless he rests...and eats."

"I will send food to his room. It will be there when he returns," she says softly,. "He is not a child. If he behaves foolishly he will pay the price. Let it go."

I feel awkward sitting there listening to them discuss Legolas in front of me but I have to agree with Arwen. He is being foolish, childish and shortsighted, but with Legolas sometimes the best tactic is just to let him do this. He is ridiculously stubborn and forcing him to obey you will only makes matters worse.

"He is grieving Estel," she continues, "Do not forget that,."

I wonder then how much she has sensed, how much of Legolas' chaotic turmoil of emotions she feels. She is Galadriel's grandchild. Surely she must have some ability of the mind. It makes me nervous to think of that. What will she see if she looks inside my mind?

"Where is Legolas?" it is the child who speaks, interrupting his parents conversation. "He promised he would take me to the woods when he came next."

"There will be no going into the woods with Legolas this visit Eldarion," Aragorn says firmly, "for he is hurt and needs to rest. You must let him do that."

"Hurt? Has he been injured in battle?" The boys eyes are wide and shine with excitement. A battle is obviously an interesting, dramatic idea for him.

He will never have seen the reality.

"Yes, little one," Arwen says gently, "and he is sad. You must try and cheer him up when you see him."

"I will show him my new soldiers," the boy says confidently, and despite myself I smile at his innocent belief some toy soldiers will be enough to ease Legolas' grief.

He turns his attention to me then, staring at me with his big round eyes.

"Who are you? Where is Taenor?"

He is so blunt, so outspoken he takes me by surprise and I do not know what to tell him. I have no experience of children for we have had none at all, my people, for centuries and I am one of the youngest myself. How do I tell him about death? I open my mouth to attempt to tell him, but thankfully Arwen saves me.

"Eldarion," she turns his face towards her and softly strokes his head, "Taenor is dead. That is why Legolas is sad for he misses him very much."

The boys eyes, if possible, open wider and are suddenly filled with a rush of anxiety.

"You are wrong, Mother, for he is an elf and elves can't die. I know that, Legolas has told me." He turns back to me, "That is true isn't it?" he asks me, "You can't die."

I have to answer him and I am at a loss. My heart is pounding—how can a child be so terrifying?

"We can die," I say finally, trying my best to be gentle, "if we are hurt in battle, just like anyone else. That is what happened to Taenor, but you should not worry, we will see him again in Valinor and he will be happy there."

"Father!" the boy cries, "Legolas will not die will he? If he is hurt?"

"He will not die," Aragorn reassures him,. "Not this time if he does what he is told," he adds under his breath.

"Estel!" Arwen gives him a sharp look across the table, then swiftly she moves to send the boy on his way,.

"Legolas is quite safe," she tells him with a smile, "But he will be disappointed if he hears you have been missing your lessons. Go and work hard this morning, Eldarion, and you will see Legolas when you are done."

He stands then and gives his father and mother a hug before he is on his way but he stops next to me on his way out of the door.

"What is your name?" He asks sweetly.

"I am Maewen," I say,. "I am a friend of Legolas. He has told me all about you."

"Oh!" He exclaims, "He has told me of you, too!"

"He has?" Elessar leans forward with a frown and I am surprised at that as well. Legolas has told this child about me?

"He said you were the most beautiful lady in all of the world," he leans over then to whisper,

"He is wrong,though, because my mother is the most beautiful, but you are quite pretty." And as he trots out of the room I cannot help but smile. .

It is a good ten minutes, during which Arwen asks about my sleep and how I find the city and Elessar sits in moody silence, before Legolas appears. He strides into the room as if he has not a care in the world, acknowledges no one and throws himself into a chair by my side.

"Where have you been?" The tone of the King's voice suggests he is not to be messed with.

Legolas takes his time answering,. instead he helps himself to bread and jam, casually as if there is no hint of tension in the air.

"To the stables, to check the horses are well." He does not even raise his head when he eventually answers.

"Why? Legolas, do you do this just to annoy me? I told you to rest." Elessar's frustration spills over.

"They are my responsibility." Legolas' voice is tight and clipped.

"Surely Maewen could have done that for you." Elessar just will not let it go.

"Leave her out of it!" Legolas hisses and clanks his knife angrily against his plate, the sound ringing around the room.

I touch his arm to try and calm him for I do not understand this mood that has descended upon him. He was bright and cheerful earlier.

"I would have gone if you had only asked," I say quietly.

And he shoots me a look that silences me instantly, a look that tells me to stay out of this. I duck my head and stare at my plate. I will not be sticking it over the parapet again.

It is Arwen who takes up the challenge to ease the tension,

"You missed Eldarion, Legolas," she says cheerfully as if it is just a normal everyday conversation we are having, He is keen to see you, as always!"

"Oh!" Legolas' voice completely changes, it is light and enthusiastic," I told him I would take him to the woods this visit."

"I have told him that is not happening." I cringe at Elessar's sternness and Legolas lifts his head and frowns.

"You do not get to tell me what I will and will not do," he says icily and there is a challenge in his eyes.

"Eldarion is my son and I do say what _he_ will do. You are not fit enough to protect him."

I brace myself for the explosion but it does not come, perhaps Legolas knows all too well that Elessar is right about this. He says nothing and silence descends upon the room. It is the King who breaks it.

"So apparently," he says casually, "Eldarion knows all about your love life as well. Is it only I who know nothing?"

"Will you stop this?" Legolas slams his mug onto the table. "Will you let it go.? Eldarion knows nothing. He is a child. What do you take me for? I told him I knew the most beautiful woman in existence. A tall tale, that is all." and he pushes his plate of barely eaten food away from him.

"Where is Faramir?" he asks, "I thought you wished to talk about the Haradrim. Can we get on with it?"

And suddenly, suddenly as if a shaft of light illuminates it for me, I understand. I know what this mood is about, I know where it has come from. For talking about the Haradrim means talking about Taenor, thinking about Taenor. No wonder Legolas is all sharp edges and prickliness for he must be dreading it.

I reach under the table and take his hand, it lies warm and solid in mine, and I squeeze it to tell him ' _I know_ '

"Faramir is with his men," Elessar says in response,."He had other business that needed seeing to so I have told him we will meet later, after lunch."

"Well I do not wish to wait." Legolas pulls his hand from mine, pushes back his chair and stands.

"You and I can discuss this together surely, then he can join us later. I wish to get this over with."

Elessar sighs and suddenly he looks very weary.

"If you insist Legolas, we can talk now." And he stands as well.

I wish I could tell him. I wish I could explain, the horror of Taenor's death, the blood, the look on Legolas' face. The way he retreated into himself, that nothingness that he became. The trauma it caused him, its similarity to Laerion.

I realise I do not know if the King is even aware of Laerion. If I could somehow tell him all of that he would understand this difficult, infuriating Legolas. He would know it was all just pain, terrible, terrible pain.

But I cannot tell is no way, sitting here, in front of Legolas. I am stuck. And so I watch the two of them depart and I can only hope Elessar has enough sense, knows Legolas well enough, to be careful.


	9. Chapter 9

I stare at Legolas' receding back as he departs with Elessar. I am worried for him. He is not as well as I thought and it is more than the poison that weighs him down.

"Estel will look after him." Arwen says as if she can read my thoughts...perhaps she can?

"He does not know-" I say before I stop myself. Legolas would not want me to spill his secrets. But Arwen knows more than I thought and in truth I am not really that surprised.

"He does not know the extent of Legolas' grief for Taenor? You are right, but still he knows he has lost him. He loves Legolas, he will not hurt him."

I hope she is right.

I realise I have no idea how to get to my rooms and I hesitate. I could walk the corridors in pretence and hope I stumble across them but that seems foolish in the extreme. To my eternal gratitude Arwen saves me before I must confess to my ignorance as she stands and smiles.

"I must get to know you! Let me give you a tour of the palace and we can talk."

I think I might like her. She is certainly not what I expected at all.

I do not like the palace. It feels claustrophobic and cold but I do not tell Arwen that so I am surprised then when she takes me down a narrow walkway that opens out into a garden, a wild tangle of shrubs, flowers and trees. It is not cultivated and perfectly laid as I expected gardens in this place to be. It is as if the woods themselves have come inside the city.

"Oh!" I cannot conceal my excitement. It is a breath of fresh air for my soul.

She smiles with genuine delight,

"I knew you would like this. It is Legolas' favourite place when he is here!"

I can imagine it is. An oasis within the stone, this place will soothe him and remind him of home. Legolas is always happiest amongst his trees-at least he used to be- before the sea longing. Now I am not sure he is truly happy anywhere.

As I wander among the wilderness Arwen heads for an almost buried grapevine I had not even seen and delftly picks two bunches of ripe, lucious, grapes.

"Estel loves these," she smiles, "Shall we take the men some refreshment? They will benefit from a break from the tedium of political planning."

"They will benefit from a break from each other," It slips out as I think about the tension that flowed between them at breakfast.

Arwen turns and she is suddenly all seriousness,

"Legolas can be difficult, He will not accept help when he needs it and it is frustrating, Estel only tries to care for him, and he is hurt by the secrets Legolas keeps," she says and I wonder if she feels I am criticising her husband, perhaps I am.

I know she is right. I know Legolas is his own worst enemy at times but it stings. _I_ can say that but not her, so I reply in kind.

"Legolas says Elessar's care is suffocating. He says he does not need it."

"But he _does_ need it." Arwen says softly and I know she is right again.

"They are not as I imagined," I admit.

"Legolas calls Elessar his brother but all they do is bicker."

"Is that not what brothers do?" Arwen asks, "My brothers are at each other's throats constantly unless someone else attacks them."

My thoughts drift to Laerion. Did he and Legolas argue like this? I do not know. Laerion was so much older and the Crown Prince. I worshiped him from afar as we all did but I did not _know_ him and Legolas and I were not together then as we are now. I do remember Legolas arriving at training muttering under his breath about his brothers interference in his life-so perhaps they did.

I look up to see Arwen watching me closely.

"I was thinking of Laerion," I say to explain my inattention.

"Ah," Arwen says as if that explains everything, "Laerion, Legolas talks far too seldom about him."

"Legolas talks not at all about him." I reply,

"Not even to you?" Her features crease up in concern.

"Not even to me."

She thinks on that, her face solemn but then she smiles and gathers another handful of the grapes.

"You are right today I think," she says with conviction, " Legolas is full of grief and Estel is frustrated and hurting. They _do_ need the benefit of a break from each other." She turns to me then and holds out her hand.

"Will you come?"

And so, of course, I do.

We are too late.

The shouting can be heard as we walk down the corridor. Arwen sighs loudly when it reaches our ears,

"Estel," she says quietly to herself, "Could you not have simply ignored this, just this once?"

There is a guard outside the door to Elessar's study and he looks terrified.

"My Lady!" He says with alarm as Arwen smiles at him and reaches to open the door,

"I do not think you should go in there...they have been _throwing_ things."

"They will not throw things at _me."_ She replies, chin in the air, she sails through the door and I am left to follow reluctantly behind.

Elessar and Legolas stand face to face. I can tell, instantly, Legolas is furious. His anger hits me like a brick wall as I enter. It is all I can feel.

He spins to look at me.

"We are leaving." he snaps, his voice as sharp as a knife edge, and he moves towards me.

"Legolas!" Elessar grabs his arm and holds him back, "Do not be ridiculous!"

"Oh so now I am ridiculous as well as faithless?" Legolas spits back, he is breathing fire today.

"I did _not_ say that!"

"Legolas-" Arwen touches him on the arm, as she begins to speak, to plead with him, I imagine, to see sense, but he throws her off and snatches his arm from Elessar's grasp.

"Do not play your mind games with me!" he snarls at her, "I have _told_ you before. Stay out of my head!"

And he storms past her, towards me, grabbing my hand as he passes and I am forced to follow him out of the room.

"Legolas," I cry as I stumble after him. It is a struggle to keep up.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you. We are leaving." His voice drips off me like ice and it is all he will say as he strides through the corridors.

He heads for his rooms and when we reach them he is like a dervish, clothes are torn out of the closet, his belongings scattered across the bed as he packs in the most haphazard manner ever. I am forced to stand and watch until I can stand it no longer and I step forward grasping his hands in mine to keep him still.

"What has happened? Please tell me Legolas, why are you so angry?" I ease the shirt he is holding out of his fingers and place it gently on the bed.

For a moment he simply stares and his eyes are filled with a grief I do not understand.

"Legolas?"

He takes a shuddering breath then in an attempt to calm himself.

"He questions my friendship." In the end he says it so quietly I have to strain to hear.

"What do you mean?" I ask for the words make no sense to me.

"He is angry, he tells me I am no real friend for I have kept things from him. He asks why he did not know of Taenor, or of my injury, why he did not know of you. He says if we were truly the friends he thought we were, I would have told him."

And I realise this is all my fault.

If I had let Erynion call for Elessar as he wished when Legolas was ill this would not be happening. If I had not resisted all Legolas' efforts to mix with his mortal friends, if I had not refused to allow him to speak of me, all would be well now.

"Did you not tell him I asked you not to speak of me? Did you not explain it was my fault he did not know?"

"No!" Legolas snatches his hands from mine and walks away from me, turning when he reaches the window.

"No. What do you take me for? What kind of Prince would hold one of his people up for ridicule and scorn to save his own skin?"

"I am not simply one of your people, and you are not only my Prince. You are my lover. I do not need you to protect me when I have done wrong Legolas. Not when you bring pain upon yourself by doing so."

"I _am_ your Prince and I will not use a woman's paranoia as an excuse to protect myself. It was my decision not to tell Aragorn of us and mine alone." And with that he turns his back to me.

I am so angry with him. How dare he condescend me so badly. How dare he lord himself over me. We have always been equals when we are together, not on the field, not in the council chamber, but alone together as we are here- he has never spoken to me like this. I want to scream and yell and rage at him but where will that get me?

Instead I swallow it all down.

"So be it then Legolas, if you want it that way." I say quietly and I turn and walk away from him.

"Pack your things." He snaps harshly without even turning to see me. "We will leave as soon as you are ready."

"And if I do not wish to go?"

"That is an order Maewen. _I_ am leaving and you will come with me."

He never gives me orders. Not like that. If I did not know that he was hurting so badly I would walk out of here and never come back, I think. But I do know it. I know that Elessar has hurt him and I know that he is not himself. I cannot free myself from the image of that passive, silent Legolas I bought back to Ithilien after Taenor's death.

I will not be letting him ride all the way to Ithilien alone. He is my lover first and foremost but he is my Prince also and it is my duty to protect him.

"As you wish Legolas," I say in the end, for what else is there for me to say.

I will go with him, I will watch his back and get his stubborn, willful self back to our people. But I will not do it because he orders me. I will not do it because he demands it. I do it because I want to, because despite it all I love him, because he may not want to admit it but I know I am the one at fault here. I have come between his friendship with Elessar and caused him this pain.

But I will not forget how he has spoken to me here. Hurt or no hurt, we will be speaking again about this.

And so I leave and I close the door silently behind me as I go.


	10. Chapter 10

When I return to Legolas' room, dragging my possessions behind me as ordered, Faramir is there.

It is such a relief to see him. Calm, steady, Faramir will get Legolas to see sense surely. I wonder briefly why it is I am always so relieved to see Faramir.

Legolas and he are in deep discussion but it is quickly apparent he is not getting anywhere. Legolas stands, his back to the wall, pressed against it as if he wished he could disappear through to the other side. His arms wrapped tight across him, his posture screams defensiveness.

He is not listening.

"They were careless words only Legolas. Can you not give him the benefit of a second chance? He deserves that much surely."

But Legolas stubbornly shakes his head and Faramir, I see, is losing patience.

"Have you never said something you later regret?" He asks.

Legolas' gaze flicks to me then and he meets my eyes. I know he thinks of our argument before we left Ithilien and the harsh words we threw at each other.

"I have said things that I regret. Things I should have kept to myself, or waited for a more appropriate time to mention." He says to Faramir, "but I have never said something I did not mean."

That hurts. He meant it when he said I was jealous, uneducated and prejudiced. When he said that he was sick of me.

"Aragorn does not mean your friendship is not valued. You know that." Faramir will not give up. How he remains so calm I do not know.

"Anger frees us to say the things that are in our hearts."

I know what Legolas means. All those hidden hurts we bury deep that spill out when anger unlocks our mouths. But I do not think for a moment Elessar truly believes his friendship to be unworthy. He has simply, rashly, chosen the wrong words to describe his hurt and Legolas clings to them determinedly.

"I have left my home to follow him here," he cries, "because he asked for it. My people live in Gondor, we fight the wars of Gondor, they _die_ for Gondor! And that is not enough? Still he says I am not a true friend to him. What more does he want?"

And that is it. With those words it all becomes clear to me, this strange mood of Legolas'. This is not about Elessar. It is not about him at all, it is about Legolas.

Legolas and his guilt.

Guilt, because if Legolas was not here, if he had not followed Elessar to this land then Taenor might still be alive in the Greenwood. Guilt, because in Legolas' mind the fault in Taenor's death lies solely upon his decisions, and his friendships.

I reach gently for his arm, to try and calm him, to give my support, and he turns to me and blinks, startled, as if he had forgotten I was even there.

"Let us go." He says then. "I have nothing more to say." And he turns his back on Faramir, shoulders his pack and strides out of the room without so much as a glance back.

"Maewen!" Faramir clasps my arm urgently as I move to follow.

"This is foolishness. You must stop him."

"He will go with or without me and it is better he is not on his own."

"He is being unreasonable!" Faramir does not often show his frustration like this. It is an unnerving sight.

"Legolas is often unreasonable. You do not understand him." And I realise that it is true. As much time as Faramir and Legolas spend together, as deeply as his friendship with Elessar goes, still they do not understand us truly.

"This is about Taenor...and Laerion." I say, "Tell Elessar that. Tell Arwen, she will understand."

"Maewen!" Legolas calls my name and his tone says he will not be ignored.

"I must go!" I turn to Faramir one last time as I leave the room to follow my Prince.

"Tell Arwen." I say firmly, "Tell her."

Let her explain it to Elessar.

We are not far along the corridor, Legolas' fury spreading behind him like a cloud, when we stumble across the child. It could not be worse timing.

"Legolas!" His eyes light up and his face is illuminated by a brilliant smile. "I have been looking for you!"

"Eldarion," Legolas is caught off guard, he stumbles over his words as he draws to a halt

"I am sorry little one, I am busy."

Eldarion looks at him seriously, his eyes take it all in.

"Where are you going? Why do you have your pack with you? Father said you were hurt and resting."

I watch as Legolas drops to his knees beside the boy, his anger seems to have drained away. There is no hint of it when he speaks at least.

"I have to go home Eldarion."

"No! You have only just got here. I have not seen you! I was going to show you my soldiers. Why do you have to go?"

Legolas takes a deep shuddering breath then, to calm himself I think.

"I am not happy here little one. I want my home, you understand that." He lifts his hand to cup the boys cheek.

"Is it because Taenor is dead?"

I cannot help but gasp. Why does the child mention that?

Legolas quickly turns his head and I can see the tears glistening on his cheeks. He is not fast enough, for the boy sees them too, and lifts his small hands to wipe them away.

"Don't cry Legolas. I will call Father. He will make it better."

It is the belief of a small child that his father can make the whole world right again.

I watch as Legolas envelops the boy then, in a hug, and holds him tight to his chest. The tears still flow and I do not know who he cries for. Taenor? Elessar? himself...the boy? He dips his head, and plants a kiss on the top of the brown curls, before he lets him go.

"Make sure you are good little one." he says quietly, "I will see you again, but now I must go." He places his hand gently upon the boys head as he passes and nods over his shoulder for me to follow.

"Will we go to the woods next time Legolas?" the boy calls after us as we make our way down the corridor.

"Next time." Legolas calls back,

"Do you promise?"

The boys high voice floats down towards us as we move away from him and Legolas stops, rubs his face with his hand to remove the remaining tears.

"How can I promise him that?" he murmurs, to himself, I think, not to me.

"You will be back." I say and I know this is important, for him and the boy.

"Do you promise Legolas?" The boys voice is tense now, tears lurk not far away.

Legolas takes a deep breath as he stands there, stranded in the midst of his flight.

"Elbereth, must he make this so hard?" He say to no-one in particular.

I touch his shoulder then, gently,

"Give him this Legolas, he is only a child."

"And if It is a promise I cannot keep?"

Acting on impulse alone I clasp his hand.

"I will make sure you keep it."

And so he turns, for one last look at the boy.

"I promise Eldarion!" He calls as he lifts his hand and smiles, before we turn the corner and the boy disappears behind us.

Legolas says nothing else then until we reach the stables. He says nothing beyond the barest instructions to the stableboy as we ready our horses. He says nothing to me.

I gather my courage as I watch him, for I must make one last attempt to change his mind from this course. I am unlikely to succeed but I must try.

"Legolas," he looks up as I say his name,

"The day is half done. We have no chance of nearing Ithilien by dusk. Why not wait? We can leave at dawn tomorrow if you still wish it."

He scowls then, he does not welcome my input.

"No. We will sleep under the stars tonight. We have camped in far more dangerous places than the road to Ithilien." He is right, this is child's play compared to our patrols in the South, but I would rather he slept here in the city, in a bed. He is so tired.

"If you would just-" I mean to suggest he rest, talk to Arwen, talk to anyone, but he cuts me off before I can even start.

"We go now!" And he leads the horse past me, head in the air, ignoring me as he goes. I have no choice but to follow.

Elessar is there as we leave the stables and Legolas freezes as he sees him. The king walks to stand in front of him so he cannot pass.

"Legolas," he places a hand upon his shoulder but Legolas simply shrugs it off.

"Please reconsider this." Elessar is pleading now. "I worry about your health. You were in a poor state yesterday when you arrived."

"I am well enough." Legolas' voice is tight and cold, like chipped ice.

"You must give me a chance to mend this...please... My words were clumsy ones. I did not mean this as you have taken it." It makes me uncomfortable to see the King beg. I do not think it is something he does very often, if at all.

"I _must_ do nothing. Do not order me Elessar." I cringe at the use of the formal name. That is the name Erynion and I call the King, not Legolas.

Elessar flinches too, so Legolas has landed a blow with that. Still he doesn't give up. The King of Men is made of sterner stuff than that. Perhaps he knows if he lets Legolas walk away now this rift will not be easy to repair.

"What can I do to make you understand what your friendship means to me?" He asks.

"I know what it means. It means you believe you have the right to know all there is about me. And I have no right to keep anything to myself." Legolas is not even trying to be reasonable and I begin to feel flickers of annoyance at him.

"Your closest advisor is _dead,_ Legolas. I should have known that. Even were we not friends I should have known that."

Must he mention Taenor? I know he is right in this but cutting into that grief will not help. Legolas is white faced and furious, fists clenched at his side. For a moment I worry that this will come to blows. He would not be that foolish surely? Not here in front of Elessar's people.

"And I must tell you who I choose to lie with? Who I chose to love?" Legolas counters between gritted teeth. "Do I need to send a message every time I change my bed partner?" Now he is being ridiculous and he knows it. He says these things to get a reaction and this time it works.

"Do you do that often Legolas?" The Kings words are cutting.

"No! But what business of yours is it if I did? I only have one love and I have loved her far longer than you have loved Arwen. If I choose not to tell you that I do not have to."

"You are right. You do not have to but it hurts that you did not. Does Gimli know?" Elessar asks and this time he sounds completely dejected."Do you save this silence, this secretiveness, only for me?"

"What is this?" Now Legolas lets go of the thin layer of control he had on his temper and explodes.

"A competition between the two of you as to who knows more of my private thoughts? Gimli does not know! And you...nothing I give you, nothing my people give you is ever enough! Do you know what I have sacrificed for you Aragorn?"

It all boils down to this, In Legolas' mind Elessar is the reason he is here, Elessar is the reason Taenor is dead, his love for Elessar has led us all here and now Legolas is angry. This is what lies behind his petulance, his teasing, his difficult behavior since he arrived here. He is burning with anger and resentment against the King. He needs something to blame for Taenor's death and the love, the friendship he shares with the King is it.

He is so badly wrong.

"I know...I do know what you give up to be here Legolas, and I appreciate it -"

Legolas will not let him finish. He will not stay to hear words that may melt the ice in his heart. He pushes past Elessar and leaves him in his wake. He does not look back.

I follow wordlessly. I do not look at the King. I do not want to see his face.

I feel something pressed into my hand before I join the throng on the street and look down in surprise. It is a bundle, carefully wrapped. When I raise my eyes I see Arwen by my side.

"Food," she says quietly, "He will need to eat. Keep him safe Maewen."

"This is about Taenor." I say quickly, I will take my chance to give her the message I left with Faramir.

"He is so angry—I know it is not fair, not rational."

"I know," she smiles softly, "Look after him."

And then she vanishes as the crowds close round me and I turn my eyes to Legolas' fast disappearing back.

I will look after him. I must.


	11. Chapter 11

We ride at speed when we leave the city. Legolas throws all his anger into our journey and it is a struggle to keep up with him. But it does not last. Elessar is right, he is a gifted healer. Legolas' reserves soon fail him and tiredness gains control.

I do not say anything. I simply watch. He will not welcome my interference, in fact he will punish me for it with the sharpness of his tongue. He has not yet burnt off his rage with Elessar and it could so easily spill itself over me. I see the slouch in his posture, the shoulders slumping, the weariness edging its way across him but I do nothing.

When he begins to sway in his seat I contemplate intervening but even then I decide against it. The worst that can happen is he falls and injures himself but the road is a busy one and help would be readily available. If he is so stubborn as to let that happen I think I will let him.

Our pace slows steadily and darkness creeps upon us but still I watch and still I wait. We are almost at a crawl when finally he gives in and call a halt.

"Here is a good place to camp I think," he calls to me.

He is right, it is a fine place where the forest reaches to the edge of the road and we can easily hide ourselves amongst the trees. He has been looking for this for the last hour at least.

I say nothing. I simply bring my horse to halt and dismount, keeping my eyes upon him as I do. So I see the sag in his knees as his feet hit the ground, and the extra few seconds he takes to lean against the horse and gather his strength before he turns to look at me. I don't mention it but I see it, and he knows I do.

I wait for him to ignore it, to pretend all is well and stride away but he does not. He must be exhausted. Instead he holds my eyes and shrugs,

"I am tired."

"I know you are." Did he really think I did not? It is a game we begin to play then, neither of us speaking of how unwell he is and yet both of us knowing it—and knowing the other knows it.

"See to the horses, Legolas," I say, "I will do the rest." The horses are easy work, that he can take his time with and when he acquiesces without a fight I know he truly must be feeling dreadful. There is not even the slightest hint of rebellion to try and prove he is well.

He does not appear until I have our camp well organised and the fire burning, and then he sits under the trees. It is not long before his eyes are glazed with sleep. This fatigue that clings to him bothers me. I remember Elessar's words about strange poison, I do not doubt him for I saw evidence of poison myself when I first treated his wound. But I feel there is more to this than that.

I worry it is grief that drags him down. Centuries of undealt with grief stretching back possibly even to Laerion. It frightens me. It feels as if he is sinking and I am the only one who can save him.

Eventually the smell of Arwen's food cooking on the fire rouses him and he lifts his head.

"Where did you get that?" He raises an eyebrow at me in surprise.

"Arwen."

He leans forward and puts his head in his hands.

"I must apologise to her. I was rude and discourteous." I am relieved he recognises that at least.

"You were." I pass him the meat and bread I have prepared him.

"You are not meant to make me feel worse!" He is quite indignant. Did he expect me to tell him everything was alright?

"I am _meant_ to be honest with you. If I do not tell you your shortcomings then who else will?" I smile to show I am not angry...at least I do not think I am.

"I seem to have no shortage of people telling me my shortcomings lately."

"You have no shortage of people who care for you, you mean." I am not about to let him feel sorry for himself tonight.

"Arwen—she has too much of Galadriel about her—sometimes she forgets herself and I find her inside my mind. We have spoken of it before. I presume she gives Aragorn at least a semblance of privacy but—when it is something between he and I—It can feel as if she is listening in." I understand his justification and I can see it happening but it doesnt excuse his words.

"You spoke too harshly." I say sternly and he nods.

"My anger got the better of me." He sighs and puts aside his half eaten meal.

"Eat it Legolas." I say with a frown, for he needs to eat to regain the strength he has lost.

"I am not hungry." I do not doubt it but I do not wish to spend tomorrow dragging him across Gondor either.

"Eat it anyway." I throw him a mischievous look. I will use humour to get his compliance since disapproval is unlikely to.

"I will think you do not like my cooking. Perhaps you wish Erynion was here?" Erynion is a master cook. We never go hungry when he is in charge of the food.

It works and he smiles, I am so pleased to see that smile.

"I have the only person I want here," he says, but he picks up the meat and eats it regardless.

"I like her." I say then and I laugh at his surprised response.

"Who?"

"Arwen. I did not expect to like her, but I do. She is more silvan than I thought she would be."

"She is not silvan at all but she has spent many years in Lothlorien. She understands us. I knew you would like her if you gave her a chance."

His words to Faramir float through my mind unbidden, 'I have never said anything I did not mean' I have to ask, even though I am afraid of the answer.

"You meant it when you said you were sick of me?"

He looks up at me sharply,

"I have never said that!"

"In Ithilien you did, and you told Faramir though you may regret things you always mean them. Is it true?"

"I said I was sick of your reluctance to know my friends, your refusal to be a part of that side of my life. I did _not_ mean I was sick of _you."_ He sighs heavily then.

"Is it not one and the same Legolas?" That is how it seems to me.

"No," He is becoming agitated now and I wonder if I should stop this conversation.

"I _want_ you to know them. It is your attitude that tires me, not you. I will never be sick of you. It is as if you do not wish to be part of my life. You reject me. You want me to be who you remember me as, not who I really am!"

He drops his head and rubs at his face in frustration before he continues,

"Sometimes I wonder if you only love a memory. You do not love the real Legolas any more."

I am stunned into silence. Is he right? I had no idea I made him feel that way. There is a long pause before I speak as I catch my breath.

"I do love you Legolas. I love you as you are." But my hesitation—the drawn out silence— makes my words sound somewhat less sincere. I want to make things better for him, to fix the wrong I have done him, to prove I have changed...am determined to change.

"We can go back...tomorrow we can go back to Minas Tirith."

"No." He rejects that idea flatly.

"Let me write to Elessar. This is my fault, if I had not refused to meet them, if I had not pressurised you to say nothing, this would not be happening. Let me fix this."

"You cannot fix it. It is about more than that. I should be able to keep things private without him questioning my love for him."

"He does not question that Legolas."

"He does." Legolas is so stubbornly determined to be hurt over this. It is obvious us speaking about it will only make matters worse. I try a different tack.

"Will you let me write to your Father?"

He hesitates and for a second I think he will say yes, I think he will actually accept the help he needs but that would be too easy.

"No, I do not need my father. I can do this on my own."

He is his own worst enemy and it is so frustrating.

He pulls his legs up to his chest then and wraps his arms around them. Huddled there he looks so miserable, so unhappy and I yearn to lift the cloud of depression off him. I want to make that light I love so much return to his eyes.

And so I stand and walk around the fire to sit beside him. We are shoulder to shoulder and I pull him down against me so his head rests upon my chest, I wrap my arms around him and I am gratified to feel him relax within them. All is silent for a while so when he speaks I am surprised.

"I am sorry."

I wonder what he apologises for. Dragging me out here into the cold and dark? Placing me in the midst of the turmoil with his friend? His unhappiness itself?

Eventually he tells me.

"You are my love first and in all things, not my subject. I was wrong to suggest otherwise. I should not have ordered you to follow. I was just so angry...I do not understand my own thoughts any more. I do not know why I did that."

So he apologises for his condesention, his placing himself above me. I knew his anger was the cause of that but it is not easy being in the firing line.

"I did not need an order to follow you. I would have anyway." I say quietly.

"Because you love me...or because it was your duty?"

I wonder why he asks that now...this has not been a problem between us for centuries.

It was in the beginning.

At the start of us Legolas could not accept I loved him for himself, not simply because he was my Prince. For we all love him, every one of us. He was our shining jewel. A gift to our people with his joy and light, even before we lost Laerion. Every elf in the Greenwood loved him, they still love him.

And so when I spoke of my love, when I did things for him, he would turn it aside, belittle it and himself, assume I did so only because he was the Prince, because I _had_ to. So long it took me to convince him it was Legolas the wild silvan I loved, that it was a true deep love, not the worship of a god from afar. Why has this insecurity raised its ugly head again?

I think carefully on my answer because I think this is important.

"Both, I think, Legolas."

"How can it be both?"

"Because the lines between my Love and my Prince are sometimes blurred. You know this. I do have a duty to you...but I also love you and that is why I am here. Even were you not my Prince I would be here."

He leans further into my embrace then.

"Tell me a story of home," he says. "Of the Greenwood. I am homesick."

We used to do this on patrol in the South, when the darkness seeped into our souls, we would tell stories of home, of good times, to remind ourselves what we were fighting for. It saddens me to think he has so much sorrow that in this place of relative peace and safety he needs this to lift him.

And so I tell him a story. I speak of a time with our people, a celebration when we laughed and danced under the stars. I speak of myself, young, excited, giddy with wine, watching from the sidelines. Of how a warrior approached me. He was lithe, graceful, oh so beautiful, all of our eyes were upon him and he lit the very clearing with the loveliness of his spirit, his golden hair, his glow. And he asked me to dance. Me...Maewen! He took my hand and led me out into the crowds and we danced as if we were made for each other, no-one could take their eyes off us. And at the end of the night when he kissed me, there amongst the trees, under the stars, I thought my heart would explode. That it would burst right out of me.

"I was so nervous."

He makes me jump for I had thought he had fallen asleep during my tale.

"Nervous?"

"When I approached you that night. I was terrified!" He laughs then. "Erynion made me do it. I was sure you would refuse me but he was sick of listening to me pining for you. Bemoaning the fact you never looked at me. 'Go make her look at you then!' he said."

"I always looked at you!" I cry, "I spent my life daydreaming about you, it got me in so much trouble for inattention. I just made sure you never saw me looking!"

"I wish I had known that. It would have saved me a lot of misery." I hear the laughter in his voice and it makes me glad. Perhaps I have lifted the shadow just a little bit.

"I never knew.." I say, "I never knew you felt that way."

"You have no idea, Maewen. No idea how much I love you, have always loved you."

His words are thick with the beginnings of sleep and when he falls silent after that I think he begins to wander on the dream paths. I hope his dreams are pleasant ones of laughter and light and love.

It should make me happy to hear his declaration of love, normally it would, normally it would make my soul sing. But not tonight, tonight I am filled with a dread, an apprehension, a creeping uncertainty and I do not know why.

He loves me. He loves me with all his heart. I do not know what is wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

I had hoped when Legolas woke this morning that some of the closeness we had managed to recapture the night before would remain.

I had hoped in vain.

Legolas is silent and melancholy. He prods the fire moodily and answers me in monosyllables. I do not understand what has happened and it leaves me uneasy—uncertain—and I do not like it. When I reach out to comfort him through our bond he is all jagged edges and tumultuous emotion. I barely recognise him. I sigh as I finish clearing our campsite...today is going to be a long day.

"I am sorry it is such a burden to be with me."

I spin around to see him leaning against a tree watching me. His words are caustic and tell me he is not really sorryat all, about anything.

"It is not a burden. Why do you say that?" My subconscious whispers to me that I lie. I had indeed been feeling burdened by the day ahead.

"Once to have a day ahead of us, just ourselves, the horses, the trees, would have been exciting...a joy. Now you sigh as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders. What has changed, Maewen?"

It is a good question he asks. What has changed? How do I answer that? In the end I settle for the obvious.

"You are unhappy, and I ... I do not know how to help."

"Being the way you used to be. That would help," he snaps and he bends to pick up his pack and walk away from me.

I am not in the mood to put up with this today, and I speak before thinking, before I can rein in my tongue.

"That is not fair Legolas. I am doing my best. What more do you want from me? I do not understand this...last night...what has happened since last night?"

"Nothing has happened." At least he turns back to look at me. "I am still here. Taenor is still dead, the man who I thought was my friend tells me he is not. It is all still the same. Nothing has changed. Every morning I wake up and it is all still here weighing down upon me."

I do not know what to say to that.

"I cannot change any of that for you." Is that even what he wants, for me to change it?

"I wish I could Legolas, but I can not."

He leaves then, moving away towards the horses.

"Sometimes I wish you would just go and get it over with." He throws at me bitterly over his shoulder.

What does he even mean? Where did that come from? I cannot pretend it is not hurtful.

"Where would you have me go?" I call after him.

The least he can do is explain his words, but he does not answer and I am left talking to thin air.

We do not speak the rest of the morning. I do not even want to. Never before could I have imagined not wanting to be with him but that is what it is like today. Our bond is stretched so thin it is almost invisible.

He said those words to hurt, to hurt me on purpose. Legolas has never deliberately hurt me. Accidentally, yes of course as we all do, and then he is contrite, apologetic and mortified when he realises. I do not think he will be contrite today. For the first time I find myself wondering if we have anything left to save.

So in silence we ride until finally we reach the edge of our forest. It is such a relief to be back amongst the trees, and I think Legolas feels it, too. It could be my imagination but it seems some of his tension unfurls before my eyes.

I watch him as he lifts his eyes to the trees. There is a light in his eyes again, a glimmer of life. They always transform him. I wonder what he hears? What they say to him? He connects with the trees so much better than I. Usually he will translate for me but somehow I do not think so today. I feel a pang, a jolt of pain at the thought he will not tell me the stories he hears.

As I watch, my thoughts drift to that moment with Taenor, when he and I stood watching Legolas as he flitted amongst the trees, when Taenor had remarked how well he was. Before I joined in to run in the treetops as we used to. Would I ever run with Legolas like that again?

"What are you thinking?"

The sound of his voice after so long in silence makes me jump. The surprise means I do not take the care to hide my thoughts.

"I was thinking of when we ran in the trees before-" almost too late I stop myself but I am not quick enough. He knows what I am about to say.

"Before Taenor was killed." He finishes my sentence, his voice numb and flat as he says the words.

"Yes." I hang my head. The moment of light he had in the trees is gone.

I nudge the horse gently down the path which will eventually lead us to our settlement but Legolas does not follow. When I turn to see why, he is off his horse, standing in the middle of the path.

"What are you doing Legolas?"

He tilts his head to look up at me and his eyes dance with mischievousness. Where has that come from? A moment ago he was sullen and depressed. Somehow he has manage to change before my eyes and it unnerves me.

"Come with me!" He says and he walks up to me holding his hand up for me to grasp.

"Come with you where?" I am confused and all at sea. I thought I knew the way this day would play out. This is not it.

"Run in the trees with me again." His eyes shine but I hesitate.

"The horses know their own way back from here...come with me, Maewen. You know you want to."

I do want to. I _do._ It is such a tempting suggestion but I did not imagine doing this today. We have been so badly at odds.

"Come on!" he says, "Come on." And he grabs my hand, pulls me from my horse and before I know it I am in his arms and he is laughing... _laughing_!

"They are pleased to see us, the trees." He whispers in my ear. "They ask me how I come to be with such a beautiful elleth." He grins at me and he looks so young, all of a sudden he is that graceful warrior who asked me to dance and my heart flips. The knots my stomach has been tied in all day slowly begin to unravel.

"What did you tell them?" I laugh back. "Did you say you had stumbled across me and had no idea who I was?"

"I told them..." he murmurs in my ear. His breath warm on my skin, "I am the luckiest man on earth and they cannot have you."

He holds me back then at arms length and gazes at me.

"I am sorry I have been so difficult to be with today. You do not deserve it and I should not take out my misery on you, it is unfair. Run with me now. Let me make it right...let us be how we used to be."

I cannot resist him when he is like this and oh how I do want us to be as we were. I want it with all my heart..

But he has hurt me. I have been protecting him because I know he is hurting but this morning he went too far. I am not a punching bag for him to attack as he chooses, as his unhappiness overtakes him.

And so this time I tell him.

"You hurt me Legolas."

His face falls, the excitement and light bleed out of it before my eyes.

"I know," is all he says, it is all he can say.

"You take advantage of the fact that I love you to lash out at me. One day I might not be able to forgive."

He clasps my hands together in his then and when he speaks it is heartfelt.

"I wish I had not done that. I have so many regrets, my life— at the moment—that is all it is...regret. Let me make it up to you, let us be happy. This will make us happy." He reaches up and brushes my hair clear of my face.

"Run with me, Beloved. The trees await us."

And in the end I can not resist because I want this as much as he does, this moment of joy and freedom.

And so we run.

The wind is in my hair, Legolas at my side, the boughs beneath my feet, and he is right. I am happy. There is no grief, no sadness, no anger and bitterness. There is only us. Our hearts entwined, our fea alight:

Legolas is my love and I am his and in this moment nothing else matters.

We are breathless with exertion and excitement when we arrive on the edge of the settlement. Legolas is glowing.

"I told you it would be good!" He laughs and he takes my hand as we walk towards our home. It is as if the mornings troubles have been washed away.

This oasis of joy and happiness does not last long.

The settlement is in chaos, awash with panic and we are descended on by chattering elves the moment we arrive. They are all over Legolas and their anxiety is palpable. As we stand, bemused and drowning under swarms of our compatriots Erynion strides towards us, cutting a path through the crowds.

His face tells me he is unimpressed...more than that, he is furious.

"Where have you been?" He almost shouts it.

"In the trees," Legolas explains with a wave of his hand, frowning as he does so. I can feel his good mood ebbing away.

"Your horses arrived riderless." Erynion is in our faces, the anger shining in his eyes.

"We did not even expect you back. Have you any idea what that was like? What conclusion did you think we would draw from that?"

Oh, we have been foolish. They have thought us lost and injured or worse. They have believed...even if only for a short time, that they have lost their last Prince. No wonder they cannot take their eyes off Legolas.

"I am sorry-" I begin the apology they surely deserve but Legolas hushes me, tells me with a look to be silent.

"We took some time for ourselves," he snaps. "Is that so wrong?"

"It _is_ when you do not communicate. You are our _leader_ Legolas. You can not do whatever you want when you want. Have a care for those under your protection."

And Legolas explodes.

"I did not ask to be your leader. I did not _want_ it."

His voice rises to a shout.

"Perhaps you should do it Erynion, since you know all about it. You would be so much better than I. I know I am a poor replacement for Laerion. You do not have to tell me that. Get a new Leader... I am done with you."

He strides away across the courtyard leaving us all in speechless shock.

Erynion looks at me and in his eyes is the question, 'What has happened?'

"He has argued with Elessar." I answer him even though he has not spoken it aloud.

"He is unreasonable...irrational... And they are sundered."

"That's right Maewen," Legolas' voice full of bitterness floats back across the courtyard although he does not turn around.

"Make sure to tell him how _difficult_ I am!" And he slams the door that leads to our rooms behind him as he disappears from sight.

I turn to the stunned Erynion then, standing white faced and shocked in front of the crowd who can not help but hear what they should not.

"It has been a nightmare, Erynion, a nightmare."

And I think it will only get worse.

I do not see Legolas again until evening. To tell the truth I avoid him, and being able to leave him alone without worry is such a relief. But eventually I must face up to him and so I go, with much reluctance, to our rooms.

He is there, bent over his desk which is scattered with maps and charts and formal looking correspondence. He looks weary, oh so weary, pale and drawn, head bent so low it almost rests on the desk itself and my heart lurches with sympathy. He hears me of course and lifts his head.

"So you have come at last." He sighs.

"What do you do?"

"I am trying to make sense of the Haradrim." He waves his hand across the maps. "Plotting their appearances, trying to see a pattern." His head slumps, "I thought I should at least make an attempt at leadership since Erynion thinks me so lacking."

"He does not think you lacking. He pointed out we were in error...both of us."

But Legolas simply rubs his head.

I remember then his tiredness, the fact he is still not recovered.

"You should see the healers, Legolas."

"I already have," he says and I am surprised. He has gone voluntarily?

"I have a headache." He smiles ruefully, "It throbs like nothing else. In the end I couldn't stand it. They have given me this..." He indicates a vial on his desk beside him. It is still full.

"You have not taken it." Why go and then not use the help they offer?

"I hate it, that stuff. It fogs my head. I could not concentrate on this if I drugged myself. I have to get this done," he sighs heavily. "If Taenor was here…" and he trails off miserably.

I know what he thinks. If Taenor was here he would have helped him get through this paperwork he so detests.

I walk across then and gather up the maps before him, handing him the vial as I do so.

"You have done enough for tonight. Look at this again in the morning and ask Erynion to help you. Take this."

He does not resist, does not argue which tells me he is truly unwell. Instead he swallows the medicine down with a grimace. Satisfied he is at least being sensible I turn to go but he grabs at my hand.

"Where do you go? Will you not stay...please." Never before has he had to beg me to be with him, and I will stay, now that he has asked; of course I will.

But deep inside me a part of me does not want to. I am tired myself, and sick of fighting, of searching for something between us that is so hard to find now.

For the first time ever I would rather walk away.


	13. Chapter 13

If I thought things would be better once we arrived home I could not have been more wrong.

Legolas has always been changeable; sometimes it can be difficult to keep up with him as his moods emerge and disappear seemingly on a whim. Some, who would be less than kind, call him flighty, fickle, erratic, but I love him for it. He is never boring, always honest, and if you listen, truly listen to the emotions behind his words then he is not that unpredictable, not if you _know_ him. And until now I would have said it was not possible to know him better than I.

But now, now he is a whirlwind of chaos. He vacillates wildly between euphoric highs and heartbreakingly desperate lows for seemingly no reason. Talking to him is a minefield and I find myself always holding my breath waiting for the next explosion. It is exhausting.

Legolas and Erynion are close. They have been friends for a long time, since childhood, since before I knew either of them. Erynion is the steady ballast that keeps Legolas upright and in one place when he needs to be. But now, since Legolas' explosion on our return, all is awkward between them. Erynion is wary. He watches his words carefully and the friendly spontaneity they had is gone. They circle each other like ships in the night never quite meeting in the middle.

Now, when Legolas most needs Erynion's calmness to keep him on his feet he has lost it.

It pains me to watch them as they fail to connect, as their friendship drifts upon the wind.

The first letter from Elessar arrives the day after our return. He must have begun writing it almost the moment we left I think. Legolas reads it and casts it aside. After that they come daily. Every single day a messenger will arrive from Minas Tirith, a letter from the King in hand.

Legolas reads them all. He answers none of them.

I wish I knew what the King wrote. I am sure the letters hold the key to helping Legolas but he does not show me and I do not ask. But I burn with curiosity to know. If I could just see them...if I could just read them with him I could convince him to listen...and to respond.

And so it is when I find myself alone in our rooms and Elessar's latest letter lies open upon the desk where Legolas has thrown it I cannot resist.

I know I should not look. It is not addressed to me and he does not wish me to see it. I have no right to help myself to his personal correspondence. It is a breach of trust of the worst kind. I have never done anything like this before and Legolas trusts me completely. Why else would he have left the letter there? He is confident I will not look.

But I can use the contents of that letter to help him, to help heal this scism between him and the King. I look only for his benefit. I have his best wishes at heart. It is all for Legolas, only for Legolas. That is how I justify it to myself anyway.

The letter is beautiful in its simplicity, the language eloquent. Elessar has a way with words, that much is obvious. He speaks of his love for Legolas and it is so apparent it breaks my heart, but not only that, also his need for his support. The things Legolas has helped him achieve. The high regard he holds him in. He talks of their time on the quest, and how without Legolas he could not have achieved his victory, of his courage and his compassion. I do not know how Legolas can read these letters and not be moved. How can he resist this?

"Put that down."

His voice washes over me like ice and I freeze.

"I do not believe that was addressed to you. Can you explain yourself Maewen?"

I cannot and he knows it but I have to face him. I turn around and he is there, staring, arms folded. His beautiful face is hard and cold.

"Legolas...forgive me, I just thought-"

"You thought betraying my trust would be helpful for us? Do we not already have enough problems Maewen?"

And he is right, we do..we have so many problems I can no longer keep track of them all.

"I thought I could help." I can feel him slipping through my fingers. I have made a fatal error.

"Well this does _not_ help!" He leans forward and snatches the letter from my hands tearing it as he does so.

"Legolas, can you not see—in the letter—how much he loves you?"

I am wasting my breath for he is not listening.

"His love is conditional."

"I think you are not seeing things clearly," I reach for him tentatively, anything to calm him.

"You should be happy about this!" He backs away. He will not let me touch him.

"How many years have I listened to you tell me he was bad for me, that he would hurt me, that I should shed my mortal friends like they meant nothing? Now you change your mind? This is what you have wished for."

"I was wrong Legolas. I admit that, I see it now. I can see how important Elessar is to you, and you to him."

"I am not important to him. I am a convenience"

"How can you read that letter and still say that?" The warping of his reasoning frightens me.

"How can you read this letter _at all?_ Because you want to help? Destroying us does _not_ help!"

"I do not want to destroy us!" I cry.

"You already have!" Legolas replies and I flinch as the words hit me.

And with that he spins around and storms out the of door. Leaving me alone, bereft, a victim of my own foolishness.

Legolas and I have a secret place. Outside the settlement, and yet near. Deep in the forest and yet accessible. I go there now. He first bought me here soon after we arrived in Ithilien, when I was sad and heartsick for my home. I did not want to leave the Greenwood. I raged against it but his mind was set and after long months of separation I could not be apart from him any longer. I gave in.

But I was unhappy. I could not settle and I did not want to. Then one day Legolas led me through the trees to this glade that is now ours and ours alone. In it he had planted wildflowers galore from our home, from seeds he had collected carefully and carried with him all this way—for me. It was a riot of colour, and scents, oh it smells of the Greenwood!

We come here when we wish to be alone, when he needs breathing space just to be Legolas, not Legolas the Prince. And I come, when he is away with dwarf, or in Minas Tirith with the Men, and I am lonely for his company. It comforts me to know he created this place of wonder just for me.

But now I come on my own, I come with his words of our destruction ringing in my ears. I come for comfort and I find none, for this place, without Legolas, is cold and empty. Still I stay, I stay and sit until darkness falls, thinking of all the mistakes I have made and all I stand to lose.

When it is dark and the stars light the sky he comes looking for me. I think I was always hoping he would, that he would know I came here. Proof, perhaps that we are not so far apart after all. He appears out of the night, his soft glow lighting the glade as he walks across it towards me and he stops in front of me.

"May I join you?" His voice is soft and gentle with no trace of the coldness that hurt so much before.

"Of course." I have wanted him to join me all evening. In the past he would not have had to ask.

We sit together shoulder to shoulder in silence, the heat of his body where we touch, burns through my tunic and warms the skin beneath. He says nothing.

In the end I cannot stand it, I have to speak...to say something, anything, and so I turn to him but I see then he is not with me. His head is tilted sideways as if he listens to something I cannot hear. His face is lifted to the stars. Their light iluminates his beauty. His eyes are unfocused. He may be next to me but he is not with me. I have seen this before and I know what distracts him. It is the sea.

"Legolas..."

I place a hand firm on his shoulder to jolt him free of it's clutches and it works for he blinks once, twice, three times before he stares at me properly, shaking his head as if to shake himself free of the last remants of the sea that cling to him.

"I am sorry," he says eventually, "The sea was calling me."

"I know," I say softly. To my surprise he continues to speak of it.

"It has been bad," he says dropping his head to stare at his hands in his lap, "since Taenor...since before Taenor if I am honest."

I remember then that it was the sea which distracted him before Taenor fell and I am filled with a rush of compassion for him.

"What can I do?" I ask. "Can I help?"

He shakes his head and I expected as much anyway.

"I have been thinking Maewen..."

I watch as he fiddles with his hands, twisting them in the hem of his tunic and I realise suddenly, he is nervous. Why?

A cold block of ice begins to form in my stomach. A sudden rush of apprehension overwhelms me.

"It is becoming too much, the sea—it wears me down— It is harder and harder to ignore it."

He is not saying this, he is not. I will not listen.

But not listening will not make what he says next any less real. Not listening does not stop his mouth moving and the words spilling out.

"Maewen...I think I will sail."

I have counselled Legolas to sail many times, in fact I have begged it of him. I imagined that the two of us could go, together, and there would be no mortals, no subjects, no problems across the sea. We could be together and happy and he would be the Legolas I remembered not the Legolas he had become.

I no longer believe that.

As he says the words, I know, I know with all my heart that this is wrong. This is not the right decision for him and he will regret it, oh so much regret, when he leaves behind the dwarf and Elessar. Especially Elessar if he goes now when they are so much at odds.

I know also that I can not go with him.

I love the land, I am entwined with it. It is my heart. I am not ready to let it go, I do not hear even so much as a whisper of the sea. And most of all, I no longer believe Legolas and I will be free of our problems simply by running to Valinor. It is not the right thing for _us_ and it is not the right thing for _me._

Legolas has not noticed my silence, he has not seen the terror in my eyes. Instead he takes my hands and holds them within his.

"Will you come with me?" He whispers.

"I do not want to do this without you. All will be well in Valinor and we can fix all that is wrong between us."

"Legolas..." I am breathless with anxiety. I feel sick with it. How do I say this?

How do I tell him I do not want to go?


	14. Chapter 14

In the end the way I tell him is all wrong.

I have no finese, it is like taking a hammer to his hopes. My brain freezes and words tumble out on their own accord.

"I cannot go with you."

It is cruel and blunt and hurtful, and it does hurt him. He drops my hands as if they burn him.

"What do you mean?"

There is a coolness to his voice that makes me uneasy.

"I cannot sail with you Legolas. It is not the right choice for you, not now."

"What makes you think you know what is right for me?" He is angry now, so angry and his words slam into me.

"Because I know _you_." I have to make him understand this. If I know anything it is that I know he _cannot_ go.

"What of Gimli and Elessar Legolas? You would leave them behind forever. You are not ready to do that."

"Do not tell me what I am or am not ready for!" He leaps to his feet and strides away from me before turning in the middle of the glade to shout out his rage.

"You have encouraged me before to sail. You have said you would come. Why now do you care about my friends? Why now do you abandon me?"

"I do not abandon you." I stand and follow him, attempting to grasp hold of his hands, but he will not let me.

"I was wrong before. I have seen your friendship with Elessar. I know what it means to you. You have opened my eyes to the truth. You can not leave him behind and be happy Legolas."

"These are excuses," he cries, "You do not care about my friendship with Aragorn. You never have. You do not want to come with _me_. That is the truth of it, is it not Maewen? Be honest."

He is right, I do _not_ want to go with him, but it is not for the reasons he thinks. I am not ready to leave. I love the land, it is a part of me, I am entwined with it. I cannot bear the thought of leaving. I simply cannot do it. Even for him.

I used to dream of sailing away together, away from the difficulties which dog us since the war, away from the differences in him. But now I see we would only be running away and the problems we have would follow us. It would solve nothing. With the promise of a new happier relationship with Legolas gone, my love for the land overwhelms me.

"I cannot leave Legolas! I am not ready to go. It is not to do with you, I promise. It is me, it is all me."

He does not listen. He _will_ not listen. Instead he storms away from me, away from our glade.

"I will go on my own then!" He yells as he departs. "I do not need you. My mother will be there, my brother may be there. I do not _need_ you!"

But he is wrong and I know it. He does need me and I have failed him, but I will not change my mind.

For the first time I do not return to our rooms to sleep. Always we do, no matter what hurtful words we may have thrown at each other during the day, always we return to each other at night. But not this night. I do not have the energy and so I find somewhere else to go instead.

It is cold and lonely without him but I do not have the inclination to argue further. I spend the night wondering if he will do what he says. Will he truly sail without me and leave me here?

What will I do without him?

In the morning I do not want to go to breakfast but I do. I will not hide. Legolas is there before me and he sits with Erynion. They talk together at the head of the long table and normally I would join them. Not today. Instead I sit at the far end on my own but I feel Legolas' eyes upon me although I do not look at him. His gaze burns into me as I eat, burning, burning, always watching.

I do not look. I will not look.

In the end it is he who gives in and he comes to me. He slips into the seat beside me and although I do not look up, his voice when he speaks is soft and gentle.

"You did not sleep last night." He sounds as if he cares.

The words that come out of my mouth are harsh and bitter. I am not even sure why. I did not think I was feeling anger towards him but perhaps I am?

"I did sleep," I say, "Just not with you."

I look up in time to see him flinch.

"Well that hurt." He replies and ducks his head, not quickly enough to stop me seeing the pain in his eyes and feel guilty for it.

"You have not changed your mind then?" He is still in control, still reasonable but I do not think it will last.

"I will not sail with you Legolas. I cannot." And a part of me is foolish enough to think he might actually listen to me today. I could not have been more wrong.

"So you would leave me." He is so bitter and he has not heard a word I said. I have had enough.

"It is _you_ leaving _me_ , Legolas. I have told you I am not ready. You should not be asking this of me. You are not ready either."

"How would you know anything about my readiness to sail?" He snaps, "You never talk to me about the sea. You wish to bury your head in the sand and ignore it. You resent the fact I have the sealonging. You blame me for it."

"You were warned!" I cry, "You did not have to follow Elessar. You had other options. Did you even think of me once before you did that?" And I realise as I speak that he is right, I do resent him for that and I always have. He made decisions which changed my life and a part of me wonders if he spent even a moment considering me before he did so.

"I did what was right for my people," he hisses back at me, "Aragorn had to succeed or we would all fall! It was not about me and it was not about _you."_

 _"_ But it should have been," I argue although a part of me knows that he is right, it was bigger than us, "You should have thought of _us._ Instead the only one you cared about was Elessar, the King of _Men_."

"I do not recognise you anymore Maewen. You know I have responsibilities beyond just you and I. You have always known that, right from the beginning, and now you throw it in my face?"

"Responsibilities for our people. But now you take on responsibilty for all Mortals as well!" I do not even know how we have started arguing about this. Obviously neither does he and he drags the conversation back to the beginning.

"The fact remains," he says, "That if you do not come with me it may end us."

For a moment I simply stare at him and I do not know what to say for he is right. Is this what I want?

"Legolas," I am careful with my words now, "I love you, I do, but I also love the land. It is a part of me. I know you understand this. You cannot ask this of me, it is too much. Your mother did not ask it of your father when she left. She knew he could not go with her. You told me this yourself."

"He was King. It was different, he had our people to consider."

In the end there is only one thing I can say.

"If you loved me, Legolas, you would not ask this."

He explodes then. It doesn't matter we are seated in front of the majority of our people.

"Damn you Maewen!"

It takes me by surprise as he angrily sweeps his arm across the table sending crockery and cutlery spilling to the floor.

"Damn you!" He is on his feet then and a silent hush falls across the hall at the crash of the crockery shattering. It means they all hear the next words he shouts at me.

"Then I obviously do _not_ love you!"

It echoes around the hall as it echoes around my brain and he is gone, stalking away, and I am left sitting alone surronded by the broken detritus of our love. The eyes of everyone there upon me.

After that argument Legolas disappears.

He does this sometimes, when the sea accosts him. He takes himself to the trees, the forest. He has told me he goes to anchor himself. He loses himself in the sea and the trees protect him. Eventually then he remembers who he is and why he is here. I do not understand it and I do not pretend to.

Always, always, he tells me where he goes and when and why.

But not this time.

Usually we send patrols to follow him, the sector he wanders in we fill with elves to ensure he is safe. They never see him, the trees help him hide, but they keep enemy numbers low or non existant so his wandering in the sea longing will not put him at risk.

How can we do that when we do not know where he is?

It is Erynion that alerts me to his disappearance.

"Have you seen Legolas?" He asks me in the middle of the afternoon, and I laugh. It is not a happy laugh because why does he imagine I would have seen him after the morning altercation.

"No. Erynion, are you mad. You saw us this morning, everyone did. I have not been near him."

"He has gone." he says bluntly, "I think he has taken to the trees. He always tells you where he goes then."

I am alarmed at that. How can I not be?

"Are you sure? Perhaps he has joined a patrol?"

"Well that would be foolish in the extreme given his health." He is right about that.

"But no, he has not. Do you not think I have checked?"

A thrill of horror runs through me then.

"The sea is bad." I tell him, "He told me last night he wishes to sail. It was that we argued about."

"And you did not tell me?"

"It was our private business Erynion. I know you are his friend and his second but that does not give you the right to know what happens inside our relationship!" I am angry he accuses me so.

"This goes beyond the two of you." He bites back angrily, "It does Maewen and you know it. He is irrational, not himself. His decision making process is not reliable. I should have known he was talking like that. What if he has taken himself to the sea itself?"

He leaves me guilty and ashamed. I _should_ have done something more. I should have gone to him the previous evening. I needed help with Legolas. I should have asked for that help long ago. Why did I not listen to the voice inside me that told me to call for outside help, to call Thranduil? Why did I let my worries about what Legolas would think of me get in the way of my common sense?

I will not do that again. _We_ are not important. Keeping him safe _is._

And so I go to our rooms and do what I should have done days ago.

I call for help.


	15. Chapter 15

Erynion has shamed me.

I realise now the way Legolas is has less to do with me and more to do with the world around him. All this time I have been holding him close, worrying about he and I, and in doing so I have failed to help him as I should.

If I had let Erynion call for Elessar at the beginning, things might not be as disrupted, as they are now, between the two of them.

If I had called for Thranduil immediately as I wanted to then he might already be here or at least not far away. Instead I let my fear Legolas would leave me, control me. And now what do I have? He has left me anyway.

Thranduil is who Legolas really needs I think. I have thought long and hard and I believe Laerion lies at the heart of this. In some way Taenor's death has triggered something within Legolas and it all leads back to Laerion.

I will never be able to help him with that for I was not his lover then. I was only a girl in the same company as he and he was the youngest prince who I watched from afar. I was not privy to what happened after he withdrew into himself when Laerion died. I do not know what they did for him or what he spoke of, or how they cured him. Thranduil will know. He is the only one who knows.

But Thranduil is too far away.

We need someone _now._ It will be days...weeks...until I can get Thranduil here.

Instead I write to the dwarf.

 _My Lord Gimli,_ I think that is how I should address him but in truth I am unsure. I hope I do not offend him before I even start.

 _I write to you on behalf of Legolas although he does not know I do this and likely will be unhappy with me._

 _He is not himself and I believe you can help him. We seem to be unable to ourselves though we have tried. If you could come soonest it would be much appreciated._

 _Yours,_

 _Maewen of Ithilien_

It is short and says nothing at all except Legolas needs help. I hope it is enough to get him here but I am uncomfortable to write more. I wonder too if I should tell him who I am, who I am to Legolas. In the end I decide not, possibly Elessar has told him by now in any case.

One of Faramir's men is with us. He has come bearing messages from Minas Tirith on his way home to Emyn Arnen and I plan to send my message to the dwarf with him for there is frequent travel between Faramir's people and The Glittering Caves. Eowyn's folk are there. It will be quicker to get a message sent through them, Legolas often does it this way.

He looks at me in surprise when I tell him my request.

"The Lord Gimli is in Minas Tirith!" He says, "He arrived last night, I saw him myself. They say the King sent for him."

Perhaps I should have predicted this. Has Elessar sent for the Dwarf for Legolas' sake?

"Do you know why?" I ask but he shakes his head.

"I am not privy to the wishes of the King. But I know Lord Gimli is there."

This is good news for it means the dwarf is so much nearer and getting a message to Minas Tirith is much easier. If I send one of our riders in the morning the dwarf could be here by the day after! For the first time in days I feel a surge of hope.

I have learnt from my mistake of the day before. When I leave Faramir's man I go straight to Erynion. I will be keeping no more secrets from him.

"I have written to the dwarf," I say, "I will send it in the morning, he is in Minas Tirith apparently already."

Erynion nods in agreement.

"To send for Gimli is a good idea, perhaps he can succeed where we fail. He has an influence over Legolas I have never been able to understand...it is strange how they are together. Of course," he looks at me grimly then, "Will we even know where Legolas is when he gets here?"

I hesitate over the next thought that flits through my mind, I do not wish to say it but I must. I am not going to travel down the same path twice.

"Shall we tell Elessar Legolas has gone?"

"I intend to." So Erynion has already decided he will go over my head in this. No more will he defer to my better judgement where Legolas is concerned. Is that because he doubts me or he doubts my closeness to Legolas? Perhaps he no longer thinks me best to decide what to do about him.

"But not yet..." he continues, "I will give Legolas a day...two days...to come to his senses. It will shame him to alert Elessar about this if he later returns to us. I do not want that. It is a balancing act Maewen, I try not to give him enough rope to hang himself with."

It is a balancing act indeed and one in which it feels we are blindfolded.

As it turns out it is as well we did not tell the King about our errant Prince for Legolas arrives home, striding into the hall just after lunch the next day. He has stayed away one night only and we all breath a sigh of relief. There is a challenge in his eyes as he looks at me and I wonder, did he do this to frighten me? To retaliate? I stayed away from him one night and so he takes to the trees without letting me know as revenge?

Then I remind myself, there is more to this than him and I. This goes far deeper, and the sea does call to him.

Erynion when he sees him, sees his cockiness, even though he knows it is all pretence, is livid.

"A word Legolas." he snaps as he marches up to him while I trail miserably behind for I feel this will not be pleasant.

Legolas tilts his head to the side as if he is confused although I know he is not. He knows why Erynion is angry.

"Of course," he says as if he has done nothing to cause us any anxiety, "Speak on."

"Not _here."_ Erynion hisses, "We have spent too much time discussing your misdeamours in public lately. Your study." And he walks off without a backwards glance as if he is confident Legolas will follow him and he does. Legolas does not want a public arguement any more than we do.

He shuts the door behind us with a thud as we enter and stands, arms folded, just inside the room.

"What is so important then that it means I cannot eat my lunch?" Sometimes he can be so infuriating.

"You didn't tell us where you were going. We had an agreement Legolas. We have discussed this." On the way here Erynion has calmed down some, but not a lot.

"Am I allowed no time to myself?"

"When it comes to the sealonging—no. How can I keep you safe if I do not know where you are? You have a responsibility to your people Legolas, not to take unnecessary risks and this is one."

"You know nothing about the sealonging!" Legolas snaps, eyes flashing.

"I know that." I wonder then as I listen, not for the first time, how Erynion manages to stay so calm.

"But I have listened to you and I respect it, which is more than you have shown me these last two days."

Legolas turns his back on us then. When he speaks it is to the wall but I can tell from the tension in the muscles on his back he is angry.

"So Maewen tells me I spend too much of my energy on my responsibilities and do not think enough of her," Erynion shoots me a look then, and I scowl in return. I am not happy with Legolas bringing me, bringing us, into this.

"And you say I am irresponsible, that I do not care for my people...it seems I cannot win."

He turns on us then and he is furious. Legolas, when he is angry can be so very, very, like Thranduil if he wants and it seems he does want today for it as if his father is standing there.

"Do not lecture me on my responsibility to my people Erynion. I know it. I never forget it. My whole life has been lived around it. My father has engrained it into me since I was a child. I did _not_ take risks. I was always safe. For your information I stayed within the patrols. I _know_ where they are Erynion because I am the one who oversees them, I know the patterns of our attackers, I know where Faramir's men are. I know where I will be safe and I stayed there. Give me some credit. I did not tell you were I was because I did not _need_ your protection."

He throws his arms in the air in frustration,

"I have been gone barely a day, Am I not allowed even a day...just one day?"

"Not when you are talking of sailing Legolas!" Erynion attacks right back, And Legolas turns to me, betrayal in his eyes.

"You _told_ him? That was between us!"

"What could I do? You had disappeared, you left me no choice Legolas."

He opens the door then, opens it and stands aside.

"Get out. Both of you get out. I have said all I want to, we will talk no more."

"Legolas..." Erynion tries again but to no avail.

"Get out!"

And so we go and I wince at the slamming of the door behind us.

"Well that went well." Erynion sighs.

"At least we know he kept himself safe. That is something surely."

"It is more than I expected." He grudgingly admits.

"I do not envy you, dealing with him at the moment. We can only hope Gimli gets here quickly,"

I sigh heavily.

He will _not_ be pleased with me about that either.

I stay away for the rest of the day. We both do. But when night falls and Legolas has not emerged I dither about what to do. I am uncertain and conflicted. I spent one night away from him and our rooms no longer feel to me as though they are mine but should I stay away? I want to...I really do not want to go back in there. Having taken a step away finding the right way back seems so much harder.

In the end though I am not a coward. I face my fears, that is how I have always been and so I go to see how he is.

At first I do not see him and I am alarmed. Has he run from us again? But no, he is still there. He sits on the floor in the corner, huddled in a ball, his head on his knees, buried in his arms.

"So you have come back tonight," he sighs quietly, although he doesn't lift his head to look at me.

"I thought you would not."

I decide honesty may be the best policy. Neither of us have been particularly honest with the other for a long time it seems.

"I was unsure if I would be welcome." I hover just inside the door.

"You are always welcome. You know that." He sounds so very tired.

"I no longer know it."

"And I no longer know if you want to be here." How do I tell him that I do not?

We are silent then and he does not move from his place on the floor. I should go to him but I do not know what his reaction will be if I do. When he speaks again I jump in surprise.

"I always thought of you." he says. It is barely more than a whisper and I am confused. When did he think of me? When he went to the trees?

"What do you mean, Legolas?"

Finally he lifts his head to look at me and I see he has been crying. It frightens me to see that for it is so unlike him, so unlike his usual strong control. It is as if he falls apart in front of my eyes.

"You have no idea what it was like." He replies, "You do not know the things we saw, the things we did, in the fellowship. I saw enemy the like of which you have never seen, you cannot imagine...the numbers... the hatred...Saruman, Sauron, the hopelessness, the times we thought all was lost, that we rode out simply to die in the best way we could. You have never wanted to know. You do not listen. You do not want me to speak of it."

He is right. I turn my mind from the things he did in the war and I do not want to know them. Things he did without me that I cannot understand. Things that changed him from the Legolas I knew. Things that changed my life without my permission.

Erynion has told me to ask him, he has told me I should listen and at least try to understand.

 _He_ has.

But I do not want to, I want to turn back the clock and to have Legolas as he has always been. And it frightens me to think about what happened to him when I was not there. What might have happened.

"I always thought of you." He repeats himself. "In the depths of despair, when I had no hope, you were my light, the reason I went forward. You and my people. I had no choice to do the things I did, to make the decisions I made to keep you safe. When I heard Galadriel's message I thought I went to my death. We all did. When Gimli argued with me to return home, when Aragorn ordered me back—because he did Maewen—he did not want me to die on his behalf, I went on because it was the only chance for you. The destruction of the ring...Aragorn's success. It was the only chance. If it meant I went to Mandos' Halls and we were separated at least you might be safe and we would meet again on the other side."

I cannot breathe. I have never heard this. He has never told me because I have never wanted to hear it.

"It hurts Maewen when you tell me I did not think of you."

There is only one thing I can say.

"I am sorry. I did not understand."

"You do not _want_ to understand."

I move towards him then. He is so weary, so sad, I want to envelop him in my love and lift his burden. I want to take my hurtful words, my wilful ignorance away and mend things. And so I sit next to him and pull him close.

"If you tell me I will listen now."

And he sighs, softly, quietly.

"There is too much. I do not wish to speak of it."

And so when I am finally ready to hear, he does not wish to share it.

Still he drops his head upon my shoulder and I feel him relax against me. It feels good to be together without harsh words. When the anger has gone I still love him, he is still my heart.

"It is enough you want to listen Maewen," he whispers, "That is enough."

There is so much still left unsaid between us. So much bitterness and misunderstanding. But today, I think, I will leave it at this and simply love him...as I used to.


	16. Chapter 16

Legolas and I cannot hold on to our good times. We still have them, moments of joy, of connection, of love, but then we turn our back and they slip between our fingers. It is frustrating, chasing a dream as we are.

It happens again. Another moment eludes us.

At night we were close and united. In the morning Legolas is silent and introspective. Where has that closeness gone? He says nothing as we dress and I am left wondering if it was all just a dream.

He has never been the best at communicating. His mind struggles to keep still. It flits from one train of thought to another. This is not new. It is just Legolas. And so at times he begins speaking in the middle of a conversation, as if I have been privy to all his thoughts before then—and it takes me so long to catch up with his thought processes. It is like that now.

"I stood in front of the Black Gates of Mordor," he says out of the blue as he pulls on his shirt, and I stare at him. Where has this come from?

"My Grandfather died there," he continues. "I thought of him. I hoped I didn't follow too closely in his footsteps, that I too wasn't throwing away my people's survival on a fool's errand."

While I have been thinking of breakfast he has been thinking on death. That scares me… That I was unaware of that.

He carries on speaking. It is almost as if I am not there.

"I had to trust in Aragorn and Mithrandir in the end and hope they did not lead me astray. We had no choice anyway." He shrugs then in resignation.

"I thought I would die that day."

I try to distract him. It bothers me, such morbid thoughts.

"It was the right choice Legolas. You did not die, none of you."

But he will not be as easily distracted as that. He has decided he wants to tell me this and so he will, and he does.

"I thought of my father also. What it would do to him to receive news of my death in the place where he lost his father. I hoped the messenger would be kind, who bought him the news. If there was anyone left behind to bring it."

I knew he had been to Mordor, had stood outside those gates. I knew it as a _fact_ but not as an experience. I had not thought about the similarity of the situation he found himself in with that of Oropher. How full of despair and heartbreak must that have been? Knowing the ending that awaited his Grandfather when he had stood there. What pain he has carried that I have allowed myself to be unaware of, for how can this not have affected him? I have blocked this out for it hurts me, to think of what has been done to him—what he has experienced—when I was not there. But blocking it out does not mean it ceases to exist. It does not prevent his pain.

"I looked for him later..." It seems he has not finished yet, "in the Dead Marshes."

"You did what?

He turns to me then, so I can see his face. I am almost afraid to hear what he has to say next.

"Relax," he smiles. "I did not find him... But I thought I might. There are so many there... You cannot imagine..."

I do not want to imagine it for it tears at my heart, as does the image of him hunting there for his dead grandfather. How did I not know he had done that?

I know why. Because I did not want to know…and I am filled with shame at my cowardice.

Does his father know?

He bends down to pull on his boots.

"My friendship with Aragorn was born amongst the blood of our friends as well as our enemies," he says almost as an aside.

He has left Oropher then, and moved on to something else. I will try to follow.

"It is important then' I suggest gently, " that you do not put it aside."

"It is not _me_ who puts it aside!" He bites back, and I realise I have lost him, have lost that moment where common-sense might have prevailed.

Elessar's letter that arrived the day before lies unopened on his desk. He has not yet read it and it draws my eye. If only I knew how to get him to see the love which lies in those words.

He sees my gaze fall on it.

"I will read that later," he waves his hand dismissively as if he reads my thoughts. "It is all pretence anyway."

It is so frustrating but I am struck suddenly by an idea and I do not know why I think it. He has started to tell me things, perhaps I should use that to reconnect them? Perhaps if I can get him to think on the time they shared together in the quest, he will be more open, more receptive to Elessar?

"I wonder what he was thinking as you stood at the Black Gates?" I muse. "As you thought of Oropher."

He is startled by my question. It forces him to stop and think. Briefly he drifts upon the paths of memory in his mind and I wonder if I have, in fact, been cruel. I do not want him thinking about that moment in his life. Not really, not at all.

Eventually he shrugs again, as if it matters not, but he does not fool me.

"Isildur," He fiddles with the laces on his boots as he says it. "He thought of Isildur and his failure that in the end had led us there—Isildur dogged Aragorn's steps the whole way, as Oropher did mine—and he thought of Arwen I imagine, as I thought of you. We are alike in that, in both those things."

He stands then, giving me his lopsided smile and I know the conversation is at an end. I will never know if I have made any headway here. Still as we leave he takes my hand and we walk into the Hall united; together. It is a good moment, a jewel in the bleak landscape we inhabit.

It is strange how innocuous these good moments can be.

Erynion is at breakfast before us. He looks up as we enter and gives me a look. I know what it is he asks me. Has Legolas put aside our argument of the day before? Is he still volatile, or has he mellowed?

I struggle to answer. How do you say he is not volatile, simply morbid, in a look? It doesn't matter in any case. Legolas sees our clumsy attempt at communication and answers for himself.

"I have forgiven you Erynion," he says, as his pulls out a chair to sit beside him.

Erynion is somewhat taken aback at being discovered.

"That is good," he stammers hurriedly to cover up his discomfort and Legolas smiles.

"I should have told you I was leaving, you need to know when you are in charge, but you should have had more faith in my abilities. We are both at fault so we are even."

This is Legolas as he was, charming and funny, and I am not sure where he has come from. Neither is Erynion, obviously, but he makes the most of it and they talk, at length, and with animation. Of what I do not know for I do not listen.

I am instead haunted by visions of Legolas on the Dead Marshes. Legolas looking for his Grandfather among those long dead. Was he alone when he did that? For some reason the thought of that upsets me. Surely the dwarf was with him... Or Elessar? Surely they did not let him go there by himself.

It is all I can think of.

And it must show for when Legolas is briefly called away Erynion leans over to me.

"You are quiet today, Maewen. What is wrong? Have the two of you argued? He seems well and yet you are unhappy."

"We have not argued," I say quietly. "He has told me something that is all...And it is on my mind."

"What?" Erynion is instantly alert. "Does he speak of sailing again?"

"No." I shake my head. "Did you know he looked for Oropher on the Dead Marshes?"

"No!" Erynion looks shocked at that, but we are unable to speak on it further as Legolas interrupts us.

"Do you still talk of me?" he asks as he returns to his food. "Does it not get boring?"

He is smiling. He is still content, still in control.

Erynion, feeling confident perhaps seeing that, takes the bull by the horns.

"Maewen seems quiet. I was making sure she is well, Legolas."

Legolas turns to me then, eyes full of concern. It is as if he has just noticed me.

"You _are_ quiet. What is wrong?"

He lifts his hand and brushes it softly against my cheek and it so gentle, so tender, that it draws tears to my eyes.

What is _wrong_ with me? I am a seasoned warrior. I have seen atrocities aplenty both with Legolas by my side and without. Why is this simple thought of him alone on the marshes proving to be my undoing? I cannot cry—I cannot! He has only just begun to speak of this to me. If I weep like a child at the first revelation he will tell me nothing else.

"Were you alone?" I blurt it out despite myself for I must know and he frowns. For once it is he who struggles to keep up with me.

"Alone where?"

"On the marshes. Were you alone? Did Elessar go with you?"

"Why do you ask that, Maewen?" He does not understand me, but I cannot expect him to when, at the moment, I do not understand myself.

"It is important. It is important to me."

"Aragorn did not go," he says gently and his hand reaches out to brush clear the hair which falls across my eyes. "He was overburdened then... There was so much... I went with the Elrondionath. There were Noldor there, too, aplenty. It was a vigil we did together. They for their people and I for mine. Does that make it better—to know that?"

"It does..."

And I do _not_ lie. It is better to think of him with the Peredhel, better than no one at all. They would have understood but they are not our people. I wish I had been there...I wish... I wish I had let him tell me this years ago. I wish I had known. I am hit by a wave of remorse and despite myself—despite my best attempt at control—the tears defeat me.

"Maewen!" He gives a cry of alarm, and lifts my head from where I stare at my plate of food so he can wipe the tears as they fall. "Do not cry. I should not have told you this."

This is exactly what I was afraid of. If he thinks it hurts me he will say no more about any of it.

"Yes you should." I stumble over my words. " I want to know. Ignore this..." I try hurriedly to compose myself, wiping away my tears but it is difficult.

"I do not know what this is. It is foolish. I am _glad_ you have told me."

He places his hand over mine. It is warm and reassuring, a connection. And then he smiles.

"They are not the greatest company to be truthful, the Elrondionath. Their conversational skills are rather lacking. They are more interested in fierceness, you see. I am sure, when they are alone, that is what they do. Practice their fierce looks with one another."

And I laugh through the tears.

It is a gift he has, one of many. Legolas can always make me laugh.

He and Erynion return to their talk then and I do listen now. They talk of patrols and trade and unexciting politics, and the whole time Legolas' hand remains on mine. It speaks of support, understanding, love, and although it means I eat one-handed I leave it there.

I would not be without it.

I would not be without him.

Legolas is open and giving. He is free with his love to those who love him. He is always there. He will give of himself until he has nothing left. Not just to me—to Erynion, to our people, but to his mortal friends also. That has rankled for I have not thought they deserved it. They take advantage of his good nature I have always said to myself.

And now, as I shed tears for him which are far too late, tears I should have shed years ago, he is still there for me. He holds my hand and he will always have my back. If I stumble, he will catch me.

And I realise, after all this time, I have had it wrong. It is not his mortal friends who are undeserving of his love, it is I.

For he has been stumbling for years and I have let him fall. I have refused to be there for him and congratulated myself on my steadfastness as I did so. I am the one who takes advantage.

Where have I been?

How have I been so blind?


	17. Chapter 17

Legolas still struggles with fatigue. It still wears him out and drags him down.

His wound is healed now, no more than a silver track upon his skin, the bandages long abandoned but the tiredness remains. By days end he is often drifting through dream paths when he should be bright and alert.

The Healers enforce rest upon him and seemingly random potions but I am now convinced this is more than a lingering poison. This is his fea bending under the strain the world has placed upon it. I realise too now that I am one of the things that has weighed him down but although I see more clearly still I do not know how to help him.

I feel as though I have been trapped within a chrysalis, the cage of my anger and resentment, and now I have broken free. Now I am a new creature, a butterfly, and I dry my wings in the sun of freedom. But I am not lighthearted. Instead I am burdoned with remorse and regret.

All day it consumes me. Memories of moments when I have failed him. When I have shut myself off, have raged against him when he is trapped with no options. When I have hurt him, and worse than that, I have hurt him with intent.

What can I do now to make this right?

The day is a good one, as days now go. Legolas maintains his cheery demeanour, Erynion basks in it and I wallow silently in my newfound shame. With every smile Legolas bestows upon me I am pierced by a shard of guilt.

Eventually though his tiredness catches up with him. Irritability creeps into the edges of his good mood and he retreats from us.

So it is that he is not with us when the dwarf arrives.

We know when he is coming, for the border guards alert us shortly before. The sun is low in the sky, lighting it into a red-orange haze and as he emerges from amongst the trees it seems to me as though he is a hero come to save us.

I never thought I would be so glad to see a dwarf.

"Gimli. It is good to see you!" Erynion greets him with happiness. He is obviously as relieved at his arrival as I am and they know each other well.

"Erynion." The dwarf nods gruffly and his eyes sweep across the courtyard.

"Where is the Elf then?"

"Resting." Erynion replies. "He is weary."

"Still?" I watch as the dwarf's eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

"Aragorn told me he was ailing with some poison but he should surely have recovered by now!"

"It is more than that I think." I interrupt them softly. I am nervous speaking to this strange mortal but if I want him to help Legolas he must know everything there is to know.

The dwarf's eyes alight on me with open curiosity.

"My Lady," he says and he bows, causing me a rush of embarrassment. I am not used to this treatment. We do not indulge in such finery here where I might, by position, be able to demand it and in the Greenwood I am just a warrior, no matter what my standing with Legolas.

"I have not had the pleasure I believe. Gimli Gloinson at your service."

"I am Maewen." I hesitate to say more...what is there to say anyway, that, no doubt, Elessar has not already told him.

His face lights up.

"Indeed? The writer of my letter and the reason I am here-" he is interrupted then by a cry, his name echoing across the courtyard.

"Gimli!"

It is Legolas and he is alight with joy. He radiates it as he strides towards us, long legs carrying him with speed. He looks better than he has in days. The sight of the dwarf has transformed him.

"Gimli I did not expect you!" He bends and embraces him. That strange greeting the mortals always do. It seems odd that Legolas has adopted it so easily.

"Why are you here?"

"I come from Minas Tirith, lad." The dwarf says then and Legolas' face falls.

"Aragorn has had some interesting things to tell me Legolas."

I cringe at the mention of Elessar and wait for the rage, the unreasonableness we have come to expect, to erupt from Legolas at the mention of his name.

It does not come.

Instead Legolas shifts uneasily on his feet and his eyes dart around everywhere but the dwarf.

"Things are not well between us." He eventually mumbles, staring at the ground.

"Indeed." Gimli continues, "That is what he told me. And you have chosen not to answer correspondence so I have come to see for myself what the trouble is."

Now there is a flash of spirit from Legolas.

"He hurt me!" He snaps sharply and Gimli folds his arms. He is obviously not to be messed with.

"And you hurt him, I have no doubt. Still there is time enough to speak on this later." and he dismisses the subject as easily as that. Instead he turns all his dwarvish attention onto me.

"Who is the delightful Lady, Legolas? I believe we have not met before." And he gives Legolas a look full of innuendo and mischief.

I feel Legolas tense up as he stands next to me and he throws his arm protectively across my shoulders.

"This is Maewen." His eyes flash dangerously, daring the dwarf, I think, to say more.

And it seems Gimli is up for the challenge.

"Maewen." He says, "Aragorn had much to say about her as well. I am concerned about his mind, Legolas, for he told me she was your love and he is obviously imagining things. I told him as much. I said Legolas is my closest friend and he has said not one word so it cannot be true. For as dear as he is to my heart he would have told me something as important as this. Is that not right Legolas?"

I hold my breath for this cannot go well. Legolas will wipe the floor with him. The silence which follows seems to linger on interminably.

"He speaks the truth," Legolas says eventually through gritted teeth and it is as if these first words are forcibly dragged from him.

"She is my love, my light, my soul." He adds with the softest of smiles in my direction and my heart twists.

The dwarf appears shocked but I know he is not and Legolas knows it too.

"Ah Legolas. The things you hide from us. It is not good, not good at all."

Beside me Legolas bristles with indignation and I begin to think about confessing all. Telling the dwarf my part in this. Telling him Legolas kept quiet on my behalf. They cannot start fighting this soon after he has arrived!

But the dwarf goes on.

"What has the poor girl done to deserve being saddled with you?" He says.

And Legolas laughs. He throws back his head and laughs.

"Gimli I have missed you!" He exclaims and he throws himself at the dwarf like a whirlwind.

"Come! We will talk." And he gathers him up escorting him away across the courtyard.

I am left staring after them in astonishment.

"I told you they were strange together." Erynion says in my ear.

"I have found it is best not to think too hard about it. It will give you a headache. Just accept they are what they are."

"Why did he allow that? He just stood there and took it...from a dwarf! And he laughed.."

"I know." Erynion shrugs. "They do fight though...sometimes and it is all heat and fire, but then it is gone with the breeze and they carry on as if it has never happened. Just accept it Maewen. I tell you, you will never make sense of them."

And so I watch them disappear into the Hall and I wonder, why can the dwarf handle him when we cannot?

Legolas and the Dwarf do not reappear and so when it is time for dinner Erynion sends food to the dwarf's room where they are closeted.

I am burning with curiosity as to what they are doing so somehow, when it is late and I retire to our rooms, I find myself walking the long way—past the dwarf's room— I tell myself it is just because I wish to stretch my legs, no other reason, none at all. To my complete surprise as I draw near to the room I see the door has been left ajar...only slightly...I can hear the murmur of their voices. They are still in there. I should pull the door to and be on my way. I _will_ do that, I tell myself. I will not listen. I will not.

I do.

"You must speak with Aragorn, Legolas. This has gone on too long."

Have they been talking about Elessar all this time?

"I know that Gimli," Legolas sounds exhausted to my ears, "but I am angry, I am _still_ angry."

"He was clumsy with his words, I admit that. He could have phrased things better than he did, but he deserves a chance to put this right." The dwarf will not let it go. I have heard they are stubborn creatures.

I hear a thud then. I imagine it is Legolas, pulling back his chair and getting to his feet.

"If it were not for him..." he cries.

"If it were not for him what Legolas?"

"If it were not for him I would not be here and Taenor would not have been here. He would still be alive Gimli! And Aragorn..." Legolas tails off into silence.

"And Aragorn?" The dwarf prods him gently. I am impressed by his calm.

"I have given up so much," Legolas says finally and his voice is soft and quiet. "So much Gimli, and it felt as if he threw it all back in my face."

It is still here then, his guilt over Taenor. This guilt that hurts him so much that he piles it atop of Aragorn's head so he can get some relief. It is cruel and he doesn't deserve it.

There is silence then and it stretches out until I wonder what they do. I strain my ears to hear if there is movement but then the dwarf speaks again.

"I know what you have given up for us Lad," he says, and he sounds gentle as I had not imagined a dwarf could sound.

"We both know it and we love you for it. We have been through too much together, the three of us, to let this separate you now. Promise me you will think on this. That is all I ask."

And Legolas sighs long and heavily,

"I will think on it. That is all I can promise for now Gimli." And the dwarf gives a satisfied grunt in return.

He has been a revelation this dwarf. So unlike any dwarf I have met before—in truth I have not met many. He is kind and intuitive and somehow he manages to reach Legolas in ways that Erynion and I cannot. The promise he has extracted from him now is so much more progress than I could have dreamed of so soon.

"I miss him." Legolas says now. "I miss him Gimli."

"Then make things right between you, Legolas. I know he has been trying but he needs your help to repair this." He is gentle and yet firm and Legolas responds so well to it.

I am walking away for I have invaded their privacy long enough when the dwarf speaks again.

"So tell me about the girl."

I cannot leave now. I should, I definitely should. I have heard enough. I should not have listened in the first place and Legolas would be angry if he knew. It is not my right to be here...but they speak of me and my heart hammers in my chest.

What will Legolas say? Do I even want to know?

My feet will not move to take me away.

I have to listen.


	18. Chapter 18

**Authors Note: Sorry...but it had to happen.**

"So, tell me about the girl." The dwarf says and I freeze. All my good intentions to leave and cease my eavesdropping vanish.

"Aragorn has already told you." Legolas sounds resigned and defeated.

"He has, but I prefer to hear from you. Why do I not know this Legolas? Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you with my life, and with the lives of those I love." Legolas replies and I know that is true.

"If you wished it kept quiet I would have. " the dwarf says firmly.

"I cannot pretend it does not hurt that I did not know this."

Legolas is silent. I can see him in my minds eye, he will be fiddling with his tunic, looking at the ground, uncomfortable at having been put on the spot.

At last he speaks.

"I have wanted to tell you." His voice is low and soft.

"I have wanted to be able to travel with her...to share my life as it is now. To take her to Minas Tirith so she can enjoy the friendships I have there, to the Glittering Caves. I have wanted to, Gimli, for it is lonely without her."

I am horrified. What have I done to him? Why has he not told me this? He has never pushed me to accompany him. Never.

"So why have you not? This makes no sense to me at the moment Legolas."

Once again he is quiet. He is finding this difficult. Normally he has no problem thinking of what to say. I am finding it hard to listen to as well. Of course I should not be here, I tell myself, and yet I cannot leave.

"It has been hard..." Legolas says eventually, he sounds reluctant to be sharing.

"...hard for Maewen. She has left her home to be here with me. She did not wish to come here but did it for my sake. She did not ask for contact with mortals and she does not want it. She asked me to keep her out of my new life. I had to respect her wishes."

"That does not sound healthy Legolas." the dwarf says,

"I cannot see how that can work."

And he is right of course. It _is_ not healthy. But I am only just realising this now.

"You must understand Gimli," Legolas says intensely,

"In the Greenwood we are isolated. We do not have much contact with mortals, apart from the Lakemen. The Men are suspicious of us. They think us magic and do not trust us. There are times, on the edges of the forest, when single elves have been taken and harmed because of fear and ignorance. Maewen has seen this. Being with mortals is difficult for her and it is my choice to live so closely with them not hers."

"I understand that Legolas but how will you be able to maintain this?"

"Do you?" Legolas cries, "Do you understand it? I do not want you to think ill of her. This is why I did not tell Aragorn, why he did not know of Maewen. I will not hold her up for criticism to protect myself. I love her."

I lean back against the wall for I am shaking. He is protecting me from their displeasure for they _will_ be displeased with me because I cause him this hurt. He has taken Elessar's anger upon himself for my sake.

I did not ask him to, a part of me cries, I did not want him to do this but the truth remains. I have created this tension between him and the ones he loves. It is my fault. Until now I have not tried at all to share his life. In fact I have run from it.

"If you love her Legolas, Aragorn will respect that. As he will respect your decisions though he may think, as I do, they will not work well."

There is a long pause then. Does Legolas think on his words? A part of me wants to burst in, to tell him the dwarf is right, that I will change. But I cannot. I have no right to be here anyway.

"Gimli." Legolas speaks quietly now and it is difficult to hear him. "I am afraid."

A chill passes over me for Legolas is never afraid—no that is not strictly true— he has been often afraid but he never admits it. Even to me. I strain to hear what he says next.

"Maewen has told me she thinks of returning to the Greenwood. She has never settled here. Not truly...if she goes... I cannot follow, it is too hard for me there, the sea longing makes it too painful. I will lose her."

"If she knows this and she loves you she will not go Legolas. You should not fear it. You should speak with her."

Surely he is not worrying about those words I spoke in Minas Tirith when we argued. Surely he is not!

But then I think of the way he clung to me then—pleading with me not to leave him. I remember his cutting words on the way back, _'Sometimes I wish you would just go and be done with it.'_

He is. Whether I like it or not, it is obvious he is.

"Things are difficult between us Gimli." He interrupts my thoughts and drags me back into the mess I have created. "We are often at odds and lately... It seems I can do nothing right. Every time we talk, we argue. I cannot bring myself to speak of this, and sometimes, I fear I will wake up in the morning and find her gone."

I can listen to no more of this. It is too painful hearing him describe us thus. I do not want to hear it. I do not want to know how badly he is feeling about the two of us together. Although I have thought these very things—I can do nothing right, that we argue more than we show kindness, that he may leave me—hearing him speak of it chills my heart.

Somehow knowing it is as bad for him as it is for me makes it so much worse.

Finally, quietly, softly, I leave.

It is late and I go to bed, as I should have done in the first place. But my mind is in turmoil. The rational part of me tells me Legolas is unwell. His thoughts are not the most accurate. He vacillates and sways in the breeze. Things he is feeling may not be as bad as they really are and it is not about me—it is not. This is about Taenor, and Aragorn, and most of all Laerion.

But deep inside me is a voice which whispers endlessly. 'He cannot even talk to you. How can anything between you survive the hurt you have caused?' And I feel sick with worry. No wonder he says he wants to sail without me.

Eventually I sleep but it is no respite. My dreams are nightmares of arguments and insults thrown between us.

I am woken, I am not sure how much later, and at first I am not sure why. What has roused me from my sleep?

But when I sit up I see Legolas.

He is bent over his desk in the corner of our room and he is writing. The lamp shines a soft golden glow across the room and he is bathed in it.

He is beautiful.

"Legolas?" I wonder what he is doing so late at night.

He turns around startled at the sound of my voice.

"Maewen! Sorry I did not mean to wake you."

"My dreams were not pleasant ones." I smile, "I would rather be awake with you." It is true, the reality of this gentle Legolas is so much better than the angry, raging one of my dreams.

He frowns then.

"What do you dream about that is unpleasant?"

I am not about to tell him that.

"It was nothing... What are you doing?" I seek to deflect his mind away from me.

His shoulders slump then as he turns back to whatever it is he is writing.

"I write to Aragorn. Gimli says I must speak to him. I have found he is usually right... Unfortunately."

He is writing to Elessar! Finally he answers his letters. I feel such relief it is almost overwhelming.

"You will go to Minas Tirith?" I cannot believe he has listened to the dwarf when he has spurned our advice for so long.

"No." Legolas shakes his head, his mouth a thin tight line. He is determined. "I do not wish to go there. I think I will ask him to come to me."

I laugh. It bursts out of me before I can stop it, for he is so stubborn and strong willed—even when he is supposed to be apologising. He looks at me in surprise but then he mellows.

"I do not want him to think I am a push over," he says, smiling ruefully as he shrugs his shoulders.

I watch him then, writing in the lamplight. The soft light falls across his face, enhancing the golden glow of his hair and at the same time it illuminates the dark shadows under his eyes. He is tired.

"Come to bed, Legolas. You look exhausted."

"I want to get this done. It is not easy and If I leave it until morning I may change my mind."

As I sit there on the bed, arms around my knees, watching him I am filled with a rush of love. My heart will surely explode for it cannot contain this. I do not deserve him. I love everything about him. His light, his energy, his flightiness. I love it all. His words of fear and apprehension that I will leave him return to me and I cannot let him think that for a single minute longer. I do not stop to think. I do not allow myself time for common-sense to overrule me.

Instead I open my mouth and destroy it all.

"I will not return to the Greenwood Legolas. When I said that it was only because I thought it might make things easier for you. I could never leave you."

He turns and stares. A long, hard, analysing stare. If I thought I would recieve happiness and relief at my announcement I was wrong...so very wrong.

"You were listening to us." All trace of lightness and love is gone from his voice. There is no smile, no look of adoration.

And suddenly I realise how foolish I have been.

"I walked past...the door was ajar, I heard my name, Legolas." It is not quite the truth—it is not even close to the truth.

"And so you listened. Why did you not walk on by? Why did you not knock and enter? Why did you choose to hide in dark corridors and eavesdrop on me, Maewen?"

I cannot answer that because I have no answers. Instead I stare dumbly at him. What can I say?

"Why do you keep on doing this?" He asks. "Why do you insist on betraying my trust? Reading my letter was bad enough—now you spy on me when I am with my friends?"

"I do not know...I was trying to help..." It sounds lame even to my ears.

I wait for the explosion of righteous anger which surely will come. After all he is well within his rights to be angry with me now. Instead it is a sad and lonely look he gives me. One of resignation.

"I cannot do this, Maewen."

And I am filled with ice.

"What do you mean?"

"It is too hard, all this... Us. I cannot do it, not now. There is too much... else. I do not understand why you do this to me but I cannot cope with it any longer. Always you do this, just when I think things are well between us, you hurt me."

I open my mouth to fight back as I usually do. To throw out my accusations about how he has dragged me here and then abandoned me for mortals—except now I know he did not abandon me, he wished me to go too.

Why did he not ask simply me?

So instead, at the last minute I choke down my protests and say the only thing I can say.

"You have hurt me too, Legolas. Your words can be cutting and when you are angry you treat me as if I am less than you, when I know you do not believe it."

"Then you know what I mean." He sighs. I wish he would shout at me now. Anything but this cold resignation. "There is no joy left in this, Maewen. I am feel I am broken into pieces inside, I cannot cope while I am like that... And I cannot hope to repair myself while you do this...while we do this."

He turns back then to his letter and picks up his pen. I sit and wait for more but he continues his writing and does not look back at me. He no longer acknowledges my existance. This cannot be happening.

"What can I do?" I ask in the end unable to bear the silence. "How can I fix this?"

"I do not know." Is the reply, cold and emotionless, and the message he is sending begins to seep through.

"Do you want me to leave?" I am afraid to ask it but ask it I must. This detached numbness from him is so much more frightening than his anger.

"Yes."

It takes my breath away. It breaks my heart. Never before has he asked me to go from him. He does not even look at me when he asks it. He does not look as I dress, as I collect a few things, as I go to the door.

Does he look when I leave?

I do not know.


	19. Chapter 19

**Authors Note: To my guest Izzy, thanks for the review...glad you liked it. Here's some more!**

I wake up feeling cold.

But the coldness is not from the weather, there is no wind howling through the trees or snow covering the ground. It is from the empty place beside me in the bed, the silence in the room, the absence of Legolas. Is this how it will always be now or were his words last night rash and careless? Will he freeze me out today or will he apologise with a rush of regret?

I cannot bear to find out for I fear with all my heart he will want nothing to do with me. If I avoid him, if I do not see him then it will not happen. He will not be able to cut me loose. If I do not see him I can hold on to our closeness for one more day.

The logical part of me tells me he will not let me go this easily. There is too much between us, too many years, too much love, to throw it away. I have made a mistake, to be honest I have made several, but it is not irreparable. All I need is for him to give me a chance. That is what my logic tells me.

My heart however says he has had enough.

I do not go to breakfast for he will surely be there. Instead I make myself busy. There is plenty to do, for Legolas has written to Elessar and if Elessar comes—as he most surely will—then there are preparations to make, for he is King of this place and will bring with him a retinue. It is my job—a part of my place at Legolas' side—to ensure all is organised to house them.

And so I set to work. I do not wait for instructions or orders. I know what must be done and I will see to it we present the King of Men with the best of the Wood-Elves of Ithilien.

Legolas does not come to find me.

Instead it is the dwarf who does when I am in the midst of things, and that surprises me.

"My Lady," he says politely as he hovers near the stables where I am busy arranging the extra hay and space that will be needed. "May I have a word?"

I look up at him in surprise. Briefly I wonder if it is actually me he speaks to.

"Oh you do not have to call me that! We do not use such protocol. I am just Maewen."

He smiles then. It is the first smile I have recieved today and it melts the ice that entraps my heart just a little.

"Legolas is a prince though. And I have met his father. . . He is very interested in protocol!" He laughs as he says it.

"Legolas is a prince, but I am not a princess. Even in the Greenwood, Maewen is all I am called . . . Or perhaps Captain . . . Nothing more. I like it that way."

And he laughs even harder. It is not a mocking laugh as I would have expected from a dwarf. It is soft and gentle. It bolsters my spirit.

"That is well then," he replies, "for it seems to me a princess would suit Legolas not at all!" I smile for he is right. A princess who simply sat and looked pretty would not suit my Legolas. But behind my smile there is pain for at the moment I do not know if I suit him any better.

"I wish to speak with you." The dwarf continues suddenly serious. "I am sorry to interrupt your work but it involves the Elf." Of course it does, of course it involves Legolas. At the moment, while he is as he is, everything involves Legolas. I do not wish to speak of him today because to do so fills my mind with all I may have lost. But I will, for if anyone can help him it is this creature. And if there is anything I want it is for Legolas to be happy.

And so I put aside my work and we sit, and I wait . . . For him to explain what concerns him.

"On my arrival," he says, "You were about to tell me something. We spoke of Legolas' fatigue and you said, if I remember rightly, there was more to it, but we were interrupted. I would know what it was that concerned you if I may."

I hesitate. He is right. I was about to tell him more. About my fear what ailed Legolas now was not poison, more a breaking of the spirit. But now I wonder—should I? Legolas is so angry. He feels I betray him. That I listen where I shouldn't, that I pry too closely into what is personal. What could be more personal than what I am about to tell Gimli? What will the knowledge I have spilled his secrets do to my fragile, barely there, relationship with Legolas?

Will it destroy it?

I am torn. I am torn in two, as the dwarf looks at me expectantly, but in the end I know what I must do. I put aside Legolas and I, for what good is 'us' if, for me to have that means he is suffering and unwell? That is not love. That is selfishness at it's very worst. If he counts this as another betrayal, if it is the nail in our coffin, then at least he will have a chance to be himself again.

So in the end I tell him all.

"Has Legolas told you of Laerion?" I ask, for I realise I know less than nothing of what this dwarf already knows, and he frowns.

"Laerion, his brother? I know he is lost to Legolas and I know that grieves him. He has told me no details beyond that. It is a subject he holds close and it causes him pain, and so I have not explored that wound. What has he to do with anything that happens now?"

I take a deep breath and I tell him. I tell him of Laerion's death. The truth of it. The sacrifice of a brother to save the younger. I tell him of the young, flighty, distracted Legolas who died also that day, of the scream, that terrible screaming as he clutched at his dying brother. Of the empty, numb, traumatised Legolas we took back to the Kings halls and the months and months we did not see him and the quiet, pale, solemn Legolas who eventually emerged. I tell him all of it and he listens in silence.

But I do not stop there. I go on; to Taenor, to the waft of the sea which turned Legolas' head, the stray arrow none of us saw, the blood, all that blood. The horrible dead eyed, staring and empty Legolas I found. Hand clasping the wound of his dead companion, for Taenor was surely dead the instant he fell.

"You see," I finish having told it all. "It was too similar. . . What happened to Taenor. Too similar to Laerion, and it has unlocked something within him. He is so unhappy and this tiredness—I think it is a symptom of the burden on his spirit. I am not a healer though . . ." I trail off hopelessly, "and we none of us know what happened to Legolas the last time. . . After Laerion. We have none of those healers here with us. Only the King will know—our King."

I draw to a close and the silence that follows seems endless until the dwarf pats me gently on the arm. The touch surprises me.

"Thank you." He says. It is simple and heartfelt. "Does Aragorn know this?" he asks then.

"I do not know." I have no idea how much, or how little Legolas has told Elessar. I think not much at all. "If he has not told you, then I think Elessar will not know."

"He needs to know," the dwarf frowns.

"Legolas will not thank me for telling you this!" I say in alarm, for suddenly the thought of them discussing this secret between them fills me with dread. He will be so angry!

"I am sure he will not." Gimli says firmly, "but it must be dealt with. He has kept this to himself too long. You have done the right thing, lass, telling me this."

Why then do I suddenly feel so fearful?

I try not to dwell on it during the rest of the day but it sits there at the back of my mind, taunting me. He will hate you for this, I tell myself. He will never forgive this. I keep myself to myself and hide away. I even avoid dinner, skulking through the kitchen to get something to eat on my own.

I retreat to the room I am choosing to sleep in but I find no solace there. It is cold and empty, devoid of love, as my life will shortly be. What on earth possessed me to tell his secrets? It is late when someone knocks on my door, very late and for a moment I hesitate to answer.

It is Legolas.

He stands there, uncertain, avoiding my eyes, a tray of food in his hand.

"I bought you something." He holds it out awkwardly to me.

"Thank you." I don't know what else to say as I take it from him. I have spent so long this evening convincing myself we are done for that it seems odd to see him here bringing me a peace offering.

"May I come in?" I do not know why he asks because he comes in anyway and seeing there is nowhere else to sit in this little room helps himself to the bed. I sit beside him. Neither of us knows what to do I think.

Eventually he speaks.

"Today has been wretched." How right he is.

"Yes." My reply is heartfelt for every day the two of us are at odds is a bad day.

He turns to me then with a sigh and reaches for my hand.

"Do not stay here, Maewen. Come to our rooms with me. I do not wish to go back there alone."

Oh how my heart surges with joy to hear him say that. How tempted I am to say yes for I want nothing more than to go back with him, to be with him and forget this long day apart ever happened. But something holds me back. I fight it, I resist it, but in the end I know this is not right.

"I cannot Legolas," It is with such regret I say it and I take my hand back from his. It feels chilled like ice when his warm touch disappears, and the hurt on his face tears at my heart. I rush to explain then.

"It would not end well, Legolas, and Elessar comes tomorrow. You and I. . . We are too clumsy with each other, and you will be tense. You know you will. One of us will say something, do something and it will all go wrong. It will only make meeting Elessar harder for you and that is what is important."

"Meeting him without you will make it harder for me!" He cries and I try to clasp his hands back between mine. I must make him understand this, for I am sure now, so sure I should not go with him.

"I will still be there. I will be standing at your side when he arrives. I am not going anywhere, Legolas. I love you. But we need to put 'us' to one side. One thing at time, and the most important thing is Elessar. Then we can try to find our way back to how we were. I promise I am still yours, I promise. But tonight, we need to be apart."

I do not think he is listening. He jumps to his feet instead and begins to pace the room. Watching, I am suddenly filled with an urge to tell him all. Perhaps if he is angry with me he will take my refusal to go with him more easily. Perhaps I just want to get the discovery over with.

"I have told Gimli of Laerion."

He spins around then to face me, eyes flashing dangerously.

 _"What_ have you told Gimli of Laeriom?"

"I have told him it all. What happened, the way you were...after...all that I know."

"How dare you!" He is as angry as I imagined he would be. "What right had you. . . Why would you do that?" I have hit a nerve and he is furious.

"To help you. To help _him_ help you."

"Laerion has nothing to do with _any_ of this!"

He cannot possibly believe that!

"Laerion has everything to do with this, Legolas. The way you were after Taenor's death tells us that. Gimli needed to know."

He stops dead then in his pacing and stares at me,

"What do you mean...the way I was after Taenor's death?"

"The blankness, the nothingness when I spoke to you...just like after Laerion."

He backs away from me then and I can see his hands are shaking, he is a mess.

"I was not...it was not like that. Why do you lie Maewen?"

"Do you not remember, Legolas?" I speak gently then as I approach him, As I reach out and stroke his devastated face. "When I tended your wound? When I bought you home? When the healers cared for you here? You were not there for us. We could not see you...you were—elsewhere. Do you not remember?"

But he shakes his head and he stares at me in horror.

"It was not like that. I was not the same, I cannot remember because I was not concious. That is why! It is not as you say!"

And he turns and bolts from me. . . Out of the room, slamming the door behind him. And I realise then that what I thought was true all along is not. He has no memory of the time after Taenor. He has not known he hid his mind from us.

He has not known.


	20. Chapter 20

**Legolas**

I had a love once.

She was as bright as the stars, as free as the wind, as warm as the sun.

But then I left her.

I left my home and I went to war, but every step I thought of her. Every day I held her close to my heart. Every decision I made was to save her. I left for my people and my home, because it was the right thing, their only hope.

I followed Aragorn because I loved him. Because with every fibre of my being I knew it was what I should do, because he could save us all. She has never forgiven me for it.

I came home a Legolas she didn't recognise, I know that. I know it because at times I do not recognise myself, and it is worse when I am home in the Greenwood. I came home burdened by the sea and by the mortals who had claimed my heart.

So long she had awaited my return and I disappointed her. I see her sometimes, searching my face, probing my depths trying to find the one she loved. Sometimes she finds him, the slithers of him which still remain and then we are happy. But mostly she cannot see him, for all that I try to reach for her, mostly she sees only the one who has torn her from her home and those she loves. The Legolas she despises.

Still we have struggled on, though it gets harder and harder each day we still try, we still love. But she has had enough and now she abandons me. Now she pries into my life where before she wanted to know nothing of it. Why does she do that? She spills my secrets to all who would listen, even the ones which hurt me most. She has told Gimli of Laerion, of my greatest shame, my darkest weakness. She has laid it all bare. What have I done for her to want to hurt me so much? Do I deserve it?

And she tells lies, lies! It has to be lies. I did not run to the darkness. I did not!

I do not remember much after Laerion and that which I do I try not to. It is a pain which cuts me to the bone and I do not revisit it. I bury it deep.

I do remember being safe in the dark. I was hiding there though people called my name because I knew if I left, if I set foot back upon the real world, pain immeasurable awaited me. It would destroy me. And so I hid, for a long time I hid. My mother it was who dragged me out of there. She reached in, she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and she pulled me out. She pulled me kicking and screaming from my safe place. And I raged and I screamed and I _hated._ It is true, I hated her for that, for making me face my reality and I told her so in the nightmare of those first few hours.

She never forgot it.

She told me when she left she still carried that burden. She never forgave herself for causing me pain. She felt, deep in my heart, that hate still lived. It was not true. She is my mother, how could I hate her? I _love_ her and I had forgiven her long ago. In truth there was nothing to forgive for she saved me. But she could not forgive herself.

And so she left us.

That was my fault too.

Sometimes I do not know how my father bears to look upon me, who has cost him a son and wife, both.

And now Maewen tells me I have run to the darkness again. I do not believe her.

When the knock upon my door comes at first I think it is her come to apologise, come to tell me it was all lies but it is not.

It is Erynion.

Erynion is my rock. I have known him as long as I have been alive. He is my childhood friend, my other half. When we were children I led us into mischief for I was the wild one. And he held me back, steered me straight, took my mischief and made it safe. He was the voice of reason in my ear and I was his path to freedom, for left to his own devices Erynion can be . . . Boring. I think he needs me to help him soar as much as I need him to keep my feet on the ground.

"Can I come in?" he asks although he does not need to ask. I will never deny him entry to my life.

And so he enters and we sit, side by side upon the bed. I wonder why he is here. How did he know I needed him?

"Maewen has been to see me," he begins and I lash out.

"Oh? She feels the need to tell you all my secrets also?"

"She wants to help you." He frowns at me, he is displeased. "Come on Legolas, what secrets could she tell me anyway? What secrets do you have from me?"

There are none of course. None that matter, for Erynion is my sounding board and has been for years. All the things Maewen will not hear he listens to. All the things I need to keep from my father, the deep hurts, he knows. Well that is not entirely true, there are some secrets . . . I do not tell him everything, but most of it.

"She knows secrets," I look at him coyly for, out of nowhere, I feel the need to tease. He has that effect on me. "Do you really want to know _all_ Maewen knows of me. When we are in bed for instance—" and he holds his hands over his ears in mock horror.

"Stop! Save me from the details of your love life. I do not need to know that! It is too much information, Legolas!"

And I laugh. Erynion is a magician. He has banished my anger and ill feeling with the wave of a hand.

But then he turns serious and lays a hand on top of mine.

"She has told me you did not know, were unaware of how you were after Taenor died. Forgive me. I would have spoken of it if I knew you could not remember."

"I was _fine_ after Taenor. I was injured and poisoned and _unconscious._ That is why I remember nothing!"

Why does he say anything else. That is how it was.

"I was at your side moments after it happened." he says sorrowfully, "Do you remember that?"

I do not of course. I remember Taenor's smile. He hand reached out towards me, the jest upon his lips. He called me a foolish boy. I remember the look of shock upon his face and the blood, oh the blood. And then there is nothing, until I awoke here with Maewen beside me and grief, and guilt, and pain.

"I was _unconscious._ " How many times must I say this?

"You were not." He voice is soft and calm against the fluttering of my frightened soul. I do not want to hear this.

"You were awake, and yet not there. You did not answer us. You did not move. You did not acknowledge our existance. It was the same as Laerion, Legolas. The same. Why would I say this if it was not true? Why would I hurt you? I know it frightens you."

And why would he? There is no reason. He knows about the darkness. He is the only one who knows. He knows things even my father does not. He would not say this to me if it was not true.

The terror of the truth overwhelms me.

"It cannot be!" I cry, "It cannot happen again. I cannot go back there. I am not that boy any longer."

"You came back to us," He soothes, " You came back to us on your own accord. It was not long and you triumphed."

"I told Maewen she was lying!" I gasp as the ramifications of this discovery appear before me.

"She would not lie about this. She is always honest, Legolas."

She is not always honest. This I have discovered. She eavesdrops and opens my correspondence when I am not looking. That is not honesty. She is not who I thought she was. But I will not tell Erynion that. He knows all there is to know of me but I will not dishonour Maewen by telling him this.

"Erynion, what do I do? I am a leader here. I have people to care for. They deserve better than this. They deserve a strong prince not a weak one who runs and hides at the first sign of trouble. They deserve Laerion, not Legolas. Not _that_ Legolas."

"You _are_ a strong prince and they deserve none better than you. Look at the burdens you shoulder to remain here. Look at the trauma you have overcome. They followed _you_ here, not Laerion. And they followed you because they love you. _You_ , Legolas."

It is easy for him to say. I know I am second best for my people. I know I must make up to them for the prince I stole from them. And I know I never can.

"What you must do," he says calmly, "Is put this aside. We will talk on it later. We cannot ignore it. But Elessar comes tomorrow and that is most important. You will focus on that. It will go well, Legolas."

Elessar—Aragorn—my friend.

Or is he?

I followed him with love, I followed him with faith and hope. I do not regret a moment of it. Though it has caused me pain, and cost me my peace . . . And perhaps my love, I regret none of it.

But he threw it all back at me and that hurt.

I know he did not understand why I had kept Maewen from him. I know it hurt him, it felt like a betrayal. But what could I do? So many times I had almost told him the truth of it. So many times I wished to but she did not wish it. She was adamant. She wanted to hide from them all and I had taken so much from her. She never wished to leave the Greenwood. I had to respect her wishes not to know my mortal friends, as much as it hurt me.

He didn't let me explain that. He gave me no time. He told me we were no friends at all. He asked if I knew the meaning of friendship—me—who followed him to the sea without a backward glance.

My people have died here fighting for him, because I bought them here, because we are friends, and he says I do not know how to _be_ his friend.

I do not even know where to go from here with him.

But I know being sundered from him is causing me pain and I must repair it—but how?

Gimli tells me I am a fool of an Elf to let it go this long, get this far, and he is probably right . . . He is right unusually often for a dwarf. But he cannot tell me how to fix things. He says that is up to me. 'Ask him here and take it from there' he says. But that is not easy.

"Erynion," I say as I lean against him for I am tired. "I do not wish to think on tomorrow. I have no idea what to do and it is a mess, all of it."

And he throws his arm around my shoulders in support as he has done so often during our growing years, and onwards.

"Remember that he loves you Legolas," he says as if it was the most self evident thing in existance. He has never had a problem accepting Aragorn into my life. It does not threaten him. "If you remember that all the rest will follow."

And for a moment I believe him.


	21. Chapter 21

We receive the news Aragorn is on his way long before he gets here. The sentries and the trees tell us. And so I stand and wait, in the courtyard, Erynion at my side, Gimli at my back.

"Listen to him," is the only advice Gimli has been able to give me. "Listen to him and do not let your temper run away with you, Legolas."

I know I have a temper. I know it is difficult to control, and I know I am nervous, so very, very, nervous.

I am so distracted I do not notice Maewen arrive. I do not notice until she is next to me, until she slips her hand into my hand. She told me last night she would be here, that she would stand beside me, and I am glad she is. This will be the first time we have greeted Aragorn here together. The two of us.

She squeezes my hand and sends me a message: 'Be strong; I am with you; I love you.'

I do not turn to look at her. I do not need to. Instead I squeeze her hand back. I send my love back to her and I know she will understand.

There is no mistaking Aragorn is king, I think, as I watch him ride in. There never is. He rides, his retinue behind him, as a man of greatness. He has such an aura, and his presence fills a room the instant he enters. But he acts as if that is unimportant. That is his true greatness, that he does not see it. These men that trail after him will only annoy him. He hates it, the fact he has such deference. He would rather ride here under his own steam, on his own. Oh he can play on his power, his majesty, when he needs to, when it benefits his people, but it is unimportant to him.

I can only admire him.

He pulls his horse to a stop and dismounts, walks in front of me and I realise I have missed him. I realise also, suddenly, that he is as nervous as I am.

"Legolas." He nods his head deferentially as he addresses me.

"Elessar," I reply.

Why do I say that? As soon as it is out of my mouth I regret it. Even before I hear the hiss of disappointment behind me from Gimli and the sigh from Erynion. I could use protocol to justify it but I know, as he does, that from my lips that name is an insult. It hits home. I see him flinch.

My people can hear every word we say. Of course they can, they are elves. Although out of politeness they may not listen, if they want to they can. Aragorn knows this as well I do but he does not lower his voice.

"Do not call me that," he says, head held high. "Elessar takes over my life. There are so few places I can go to be simply Aragorn. Would you deny me this sanctuary with you—Legolas of the Woodland Realm?"

Oh it is so hard to be angry with him. He always undoes me. He always knows just what to say to reach the heart of me. He knows the joy I had in the Fellowship, the freedom to just be Legolas. Not Legolas the prince, not Legolas son of Thranduil. Just Legolas. He is right. How can I deny him?

Why would I want to?

He has given me an out, a way to back down from my foolishness and I take it.

"You will always have sanctuary here in Ithilien, Aragorn of the Dunedain."

And he smiles. It is not a smile of mockery or of pride. It is one of warmth and love, to soothe my harsh edges.

Elessar the King and Legolas the Prince often clash, and can be difficult.

But Aragorn the Ranger and Legolas the Wood-elf?

We fit perfectly.

"Aragorn!" Gimli barges past me then and greets Aragorn as if he has not seen him in an age. Foolish dwarf. . . He was in Minas Tirith not three days ago! I think he hopes to save me from myself and my foolishness by overtaking the conversation and I am happy to let him. I do not know where to head next with Aragorn.

So I watch as Aragorn greets him happily. I think he is just as relieved as I to have someone in-between us, then once he has finished with Gimli he turns to Maewen graciously.

"My lady," he says with a bow. He has always had good manners when he needs then. Elrond taught him well.

But Gimli interrupts him then.

"Let me correct you, Aragorn, for I have been told in no uncertain terms she is not a lady. She is 'just Maewen."

I have to laugh. Does he not realise how bad that sounds? Sometimes Gimli is a bigger fool than I. It must have been Maewen herself that told him this for she has always said it. She argued with me so strongly when I finally declared myself—and that took no end of courage—'I am not a princess' she said as if it was any reason at all for us not to continue our dalliance, for since when did I want a princess anyway? I did not. I wanted her!

Aragorn is taken aback and that makes me laugh the harder, the expression on his face! I do not know if it is because he thinks he has offended her or because of the ludicrous way Gimli has phrased it. But Maewen is gracious. She says she is no princess but she is wrong. She is my princess and always will be. She is as good as any others I have known—though in truth that is not many, and they are mainly mannish.

I do not know what to do then. How do I move on from here? And he has so many men with him. Where will we put them all?

It is then Maewen touches my arm, as if she reads my mind.

"Do not worry. I have arranged it," she murmers.

Of course she has. She always does. I may be able to organise a battle, to captain my men on the field and know where everyone of them is, what each and every one's strengths are, but organisation of the settlement in some areas eludes me. I am hopeless at it. What would I do without Maewen?

"Let me show your men to their accommodation," she says sweetly to Aragorn, "and the horses to the stables." And she leads them off, leaving us standing awkwardly behind.

Gimli takes over then as I stare hopelessly at Maewen's receding back. Suddenly, without her next to me, I feel adrift. Thank goodness for Gimli. He talks so much my silence and uncertainty could easily be overlooked, although I do not think for a second Aragorn himself overlooks them. He sees everything.

But Gimli talks . . . And talks and talks, and when he is silent Erynion starts up in his stead. They, both of them, are petrified I will make some error, say something hugely insulting, start an argument. They sweep us along, to Aragorn's room, and then to the hall for a meal, and I follow quietly behind. I am not sure if Aragorn takes my silence as anger, bad temper or simply the awkwardness it really is.

Maewen joins us for food and they all watch me. I feel their eyes upon me...all of them. And it is becoming irritating. Their gazes burn underneath my skin, watching, watching, watching. I sit and eat and let conversation roll around me. If they want to talk on my behalf and cover for my silence, then they can and I will let them.

Erynion obviously believes I should be doing more. I can see the frustration in his eyes and I think I know exactly what he wants. He wants me to take Aragorn away, to talk to him in private and thrash this out. But I have no idea what to say, no idea how to say it, and I just do not want to! He kicks my shin incessantly under the table and it is getting sore.

"Erynion!" I snap after the next time he does it. "If there is something you wish to say, just say it. My leg is getting sore."

And he glares at me. He gives me a look that cuts me to shreds, but what can he say? We are in company. Instead he just grits his teeth. He is finding me annoying. I know it. I can drive Erynion to distraction when I do not do what he thinks I should when he wants it. Sometimes knowing that is enough to make me deliberately drag my feet.

Today, though, it only makes me angry. Suddenly I am tired—so very tired of all of this—and that tiredness hits me like a physical wave. Why can they not leave me alone to handle this tension my own way, in my own time?

I push back my chair aggressively then, despite the fact I have eaten barely anything and Maewen grasps my arm as I do. Her eyes are full of concern and worry, and that angers me too. I shrug her off. I do not need her concern.

"Aragorn," I snap. "Erynion believes we should be speaking in private and that I neglect the obvious. Is that not so, Erynion?"

"Legolas," Erynion leaps to his feet and puts a hand on my shoulder to ground me. I know he tries to prevent me flying away in foolish rage, but I do not need it. Does he think me a complete fool?

"Eat first, please, you do not need to rush things." He is so full of worry for me it sets my nerves on edge. They do not need to worry so. I am alright. I do not need them to tiptoe round me waiting for the next disaster.

They give me no credit at all. They truly do think me hopeless.

Perhaps they are right.

Anyway, I am not in the mood now to play their games.

"Aragorn," I ignore Erynion and turn to my mortal friend instead. "Will you accompany me to my study and we can get this over with?"

"Legolas—" It is a low warning from Gimli. In that one word he tells me to mind my friends, to watch my temper, to focus on what it is I wish to achieve from this visit instead of allowing this all consuming anger to swallow me whole and destroy my friendship with Aragorn as it did before.

I should listen.

But I do not want to.

Tension crackles between us all and it has come out of nowhere. I am so angry, so very angry with them all. Who do they think they are? Maewen has no right to worry for me when she so readily betrays me. Erynion oversteps the mark. He is my friend and my second, yes, but he is not in charge of me. I am his prince here and I am sick of him thinking I am not fit to rule.

And Gimli? He is only a dwarf. He is on Aragorn's side of course, in all this.

"Legolas, we do not have to do this now if you do not wish it. I am going nowhere. There is as much time as we need available to us." Aragorn has stood and approached me. He is so understanding, so empathetic, so perfect. He always is. He is everything I am not as a leader.

And he makes it so goddamn obvious. Elessar the triumphant and Legolas, the one who stumbles through on luck alone leaving disaster in his wake. So lucky I am then that I have Aragorn here to save me from myself. That is what they are all thinking—how can Legolas throw this friendship away when he will drown without it?

I have had enough of their pitying looks and their low opinions of me. I do not need Aragorn's condescending help. I have lived his life span five times over. I managed long before I knew him and I will manage again without him if I have to.

"Just come with me!" I bite back at him, and I turn on my heels and storm from the room. Whether he follows me or not I do not know.

And to be honest, at this moment, I do not care.


	22. Chapter 22

After the clatter of plates and general conversation in the hall my study is peaceful and quiet. As I enter, my tiredness engulfs me and I lean forwards, resting my head against the wall. It's coolness against my forehead is strangely soothing and I almost forget Aragorn follows me until I feel his hand fall softly on my shoulder.

"Legolas?" He is hesitant when he speaks.

"I am tired," I say without even turning to look at him and I am. So very, very tired.

"I meant what I said, we do not need to do this now," he says firmly and he turns me round so I must look him in the eyes. Instantly he is the healer.

When Aragorn is using his healing eyes he looks at you differently. He analyses. His gaze strips you down to your essence as he searches every part of you looking for answers. Always searching, always evaluating. He does not see Legolas. He looks for the problems within Legolas. He breaks me down to my parts and it is discomforting.

"No!" I push him away with a frown and walk across the room. "I do not need a healer Aragorn. That is the last thing I need."

"You sound as if you need one."

From within me, my anger starts to bubble up, back to the surface, the anger the quietness of the room had dissipated.

"I did not ask you here to discuss my health. That is not why we are here."

"Why are we here then Legolas?" He says quietly and I explode.

"Have you forgotten? You question my friendship. We are estranged. I am not good enough it seems. Not good enough for the King of Men; and the sacrifices my people make for you are not enough either. We are only Wood-elves after all, so why am I surprised?"

"Stop it Legolas. That is _**enough**_!"

I blink in surprise as he raises his voice and shouts at me for, as angry as I am, I did not expect it.

"You are better then this!" he rages, "Do not throw these old prejudices in my face. I do _not_ deserve it and you do not even believe it any more."

He is right. Once upon a time I did, back in the days when I seldom left my forest, but not now . . . Well not often. I know that the times when the shadow of my old Noldor prejudice appears drive Aragorn to distraction. It irritates him no end. Possibly that is why I said it in the first place. I know all the things to say to gain a reaction from him, to wiggle under his skin and destroy his perfection.

We stare at each other then, long and hard and I throw all my anger into it. All that burning, searing anger. Aragorn is the only mortal I know who would take this on. He grew up in Imladris with those monosyllabic, glaring, twins for brothers so he can deal with an elven stare. But I win in the end though for I am an elf and the son of Thranduil no less. He will never stare me down.

He breaks his eye contact and turns away, throwing himself into a chair where he sits, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"This is not how I anticipated this going," he murmers into his hands and for a second he seems broken. "Your friendship is a jewel in my life Legolas," he continues, "and somehow I have failed you if you do not know that."

I stand, silent and still, watching him and the anger, as he sits there in despair, vanishes as quickly as it arrived. In its wake it leaves emptiness—nothing.

He raises his head then and looks back at me when I say nothing, do nothing, in response.

"We have so little time left to us Legolas, to be together. Must we spend it like this? Is this really what you want?"

Did he have to remind me of that?

Sometimes time with him feels as if it slides through my fingers in a rush. I try to grab on to it, to hold it tight and stop it disappearing before my eyes but I cannot. Onwards and onwards it flows towards it's inevitable end. An end that will break me.

"You were the one who told me I did not know how to _be_ a friend." My voice when I speak is tight and horse. Emotion rushes up from the depths and chokes me. "My people have _died,_ Taenor _died-"_ I cannot go on.

"I know,"He says it sadly, mournfully. "You were grieving. You had shown me that the day before and I should have taken that in to account. My words were ill-chosen . . .Cruel. Forgive me please. I know the price you pay, the price your people pay for my friendship. I _know_ it Legolas. It is always on my mind."

I do not know what to say.

"I was hurt," he continues. "That is my only excuse. It felt too big a secret for you to have kept from me and I could not understand why. I still can not understand why. It is usual, Legolas, in most societies, to share with friends things such as the existence of a wife—even the Silvans do that I believe." He leans forward in his seat then. " _Is_ she your wife? I do not even know that much. Are you wed?"

He is right to feel hurt and I know that but it was not my wish to hurt him and he did not allow me to explain that.

"That depends," I mumble in reply and I know I sound sulky and resentful. "Whose traditions do you measure it by? Noldor? Men?"

" _Your_ traditions since it is you we speak of!"

"Not as such then."

"Not as such? What does that even mean?" I can feel his frustration with me growing by the minute. "Can you not give me a straight answer?"

"Your people would say we are not—and so would the Noldor, but my people consider we are. She is my light," I try not to think about the disaster the pair of us are at the moment. We could walk away from each other tomorrow and the Silvans would not turn a hair, they would accept it. The Sindar would not though. Although any ceremonies joining us together are only the private, secret, binding ones of our own hearts. They are just as strong, just as meaningful—to us.

He leans back in his chair and sighs heavily,

"Was that so hard then, to tell me?"

"It is not your way, I did not know how you would—"

He cuts me off for he is angry and with justification for my excuses are poor ones. I have no excuses that stand up under examination.

"Give me some credit, Legolas! I am _not_ that closed minded. I am able to understand silvan differences and accept them."

"You were raised in Imladris—"

"Do not!" He holds up his hand to stop me speaking further, "Do _not_ start that again! That Noldor nonsense. Do you _want_ to fight with me, Legolas? For that is how it seems. Is that what you want, for us to be at each other's throats?"

"I do not want that. You gave me no chance to explain. You attacked my friendship and did not ask if I had reasons." I sound childish, even to my own ears, childish and defensive. As bad as Eldarion when he is forced into something he does not want and yet has no sensible reason for not wanting.

"Sit then," Aragorn says and throws his arm out to indicate the chair beside him. "Sit and tell me your reasons. I know you have them. Now I have had time to think on this I know it will not be as simple it first seemed."

And so I sit, awkwardly and uncomfortably for I am on edge. I do not know _how_ to explain.

"Maewen . . ." I trail off before I even begin. I want him to know Maewen. To see the things I see. Her brightness, her vivacity. I want him to like her. How can I explain this without him judging her and finding her lacking, for he will do if he thinks she hurts me. I am at a loss.

"The war changed me," I begin again, "I am no longer the elf who left the Greenwood. I am not the Legolas you first met in Imladris. Can you remember him?"

"I do." He smiles then and I know he is remembering something . . . Probably my tantrum with the Balrog slayer—how embarrassing.

"That is the Legolas Maewen fell in love with. That is the Legolas she waited for all the time I was away. That is the Legolas she wants, and I came back as someone else. It has been hard for her, to find someone she loves in me. I have dragged her from her home. She did not want to leave. She does not want to be here, we are here for me. It is all about me." I pause for breath and he watches me. Always carefully watching and I wonder what he is thinking. He gives me no clue and so I go on.

"She has given up everything to come here with me. She did not ask for mortals to be part of her life. There are problems, Aragorn, with mortal friendships, you know this." He does know, but this is a lie. It is not the reason Maewen stays away from him and from Gimli for she welcomes Faramir and Eowyn into her life with open arms. No, it is because she resents them. She blames them for us having to be here in the first place.

"She asked me not to involve her in that part of my life and I have not. I owe it to her. I can not refuse her this. She wished me to keep her. . . to keep us, private."

Aragorn quirks an eyebrow at me then as he watches me.

"And how is that going?"

And I drop my head.

"Not particularly well, as you have no doubt noticed." And I sigh then. "Gimli tells me it is not healthy."

"I would agree with him," Aragorn says mildly, "Still it is not for him or I to say."

"Do not judge her Aragorn!" I cry, "You do not live our life." I am suddenly all too aware Arwen has given up her immortality for him, she has given him everything, and she does it with grace and willingness. How can he understand this?

"I promise I do not judge," he says softly but he does. He must.

"It is changing," I rush to Maewen's defence. "She has come to Minas Tirith with me, she greets you here beside me. She arranged the logistics for housing your men. I did not even ask, had it been left to me you would all be sleeping under the stars!"

He smiles softly at the thought, obviously, of my hopeless organisational skills which hurts a little. I cannot deny it. A barb under my skin.

"I am glad to hear it changes, and I am glad of the chance to know her," he says then.

I am tempted then to tell him more. To tell him the whole of it. The arguments, the feeling I have that there is more of me she does not like than there is that she does. Our inability to speak for any length of time without being hurtful. The love, the terrible love, that tears me apart because I just cannot reach it. Everytime I get closer it moves further away.

But in the end I do not. How would he ever respect Maewen if I told him that?

"Are we friends then Legolas?" He leans forward and touches my arm, the softest of touches. "Can you forgive me my words? I would take them back if I could, but once spoken I know it is not that easy."

"We have always been friends," I murmer, and the smile that lights his face at that is as bright as the sun.

"Thank the gods!" He leans back in his chair and throws me a grin full of mischief. Most would say Aragorn was grim and serious, that that is all there is to him. Majestic, yes, and benevolent when he needs to be. But fun loving? Mischievous? They would not say that. Not the leader of those grey, grim, Dunedain. I see it though. I know it. Estel the child is inside him still. "For Arwen has been relentless," he continues, "I have heard nothing except how foolish I have been. If I had to return and tell her I had not won you over she would never let me rest!"

And I laugh. It wells up within me, a rush of joy and relief, A tide that sweeps the remnants of anger and bitterness before it and wipes my soul clean. The tension that has twisted inside me all these days dissipates and I am happy, so pleased to be with him.

We are reunited and all is good.


	23. Chapter 23

I do not sleep.

Aragorn stays for awhile. We share a drink and we talk, but of superficial things. The settlements' provisions for winter, his most recent problem with the nobles in Minas Tirith, and Eldarion's latest escapade. It is easy to talk of Eldarion for we both love him. We speak no more about Maewen.

I know what he does. He tries to steer us towards calm waters to help us find a path back to each other. Neither of us wants controversy.

But eventually he goes and I am alone.

Maewen told me she loved me, that she stayed away only because of Aragorn. That she wished nothing to jeopardise my reunion with him. But now we _are_ reunited. Now I have spoken to him, shared a drink with him, laughed with him, discovered him again.

But still she does not come. She does not come even to see if all went well.

The night is long and my rooms are cold and empty without her. It gives me time to think.

Time to think of all the moments she has looked at me and found me lacking—not enough. I used to be her sun, the centre of her universe. She used to uplift me with her love. But now she can only find fault. My choices are bad ones, my friends are no good, I do not think of her often enough, I live in the wrong place, see the wrong people, do the wrong things.

Feel the wrong feelings.

As much as I love her, as much as I need her, I have to face facts, there is nothing left. Not for her. She no longer loves the Legolas I am . . . Only the Legolas I was.

And so when morning comes I have a heavy heart indeed.

Aragorn and Gimli are already in the hall when I arrive for breakfast. They sit, heads together discussing . . . Something. I cannot hear them for their voices are low and there is a cacophony of Wood-elves here but I can see Aragorn's face. His mouth is set in a firm line and his eyes are serious. Whatever they discuss it is not pleasant: It is probably me.

As I make to move towards them the gentle hand upon my arm surprises me. Of course it is Maewen, but where was she? Where was she last night?

"Maewen." I know my voice is cool towards her but I am hurting, she has hurt me.

"Legolas," she says and I love the sound of her voice. It is music and light and all things joyful. I love the way she says my name as if it was a prayer. I will never tire of hearing it.

"You look tired." She lifts her hand and softly brushes the back of it down my cheek. Her eyes are full of concern. It is a gesture of love and it breaks me. The walls that keep all my grief and sorrow locked up inside are cracking under the weight of it. The only way to protect myself is to attack.

"Where were you last night?"

"What do you mean?" She screws her face up in confusion. "You were with Elessar."

"I was not with him _all_ night!"

"We spoke about this" she says slowly, " We discussed that I would stay away, we would give each other space, so difficulties between us would not cause problems with your reunion."

"We did not discuss it. You decided it, and we both know it is a lie Maewen," I bite back. "The truth of it is you use Aragorn as an excuse. You do not wish to be with me because there is nothing left about me you can love. Admit it. Stop tormenting me with pretence."

"That is not the truth," she gasps, her eyes wide with horror. "Tell me you do not believe that!"

"What choice do I have?" Turn my back on her then and walk away, towards my friends, towards the ones who _do_ love me for who I am. "You hate everything about me." I toss back over my shoulder at her as I go. That conversation is at an end.

I am such a turmoil of emotion by the time I sit myself down between Aragorn and Gimli it is a struggle to maintain my equilibrium but I must. I will not allow myself to lose control and damage the fragile peace Aragorn and I achieved last night. I will not! But it is as if I have a raging sea of heartbreak inside me and it pounds me into oblivion.

"Legolas?"

It is Aragorn's hand on my arm that rescues me from drowning. He has been speaking and I have not even heard him. He looks at me with a furrow of concern on his brow.

"Sorry," I say, for I have no clue what he has just said. "I was thinking on something." I notice then Erynion has joined us. His face is tense and strained, anxious. He is not happy about something.

"I was thinking we need to speak on the Haradrim." Aragorn repeats himself. "There must be a better solution to these raids and the risk they pose your people. I would like to see where the last attack occured. Would you take me?"

My blood runs cold.

A wave of nausea engulfs me for I cannot go there. I feel suddenly and terribly sick.

"I can show you—" my voice sounds numb to my ears, "I have maps. . . It is all outlined there."

He leans forward intently then,

"I would like to see them too but visiting the area would be helpful for me I think."

Out of the corner of my eye I see Maewen, hovering on the edge of our group. She has heard Aragorn's words and I can feel her tension. She is awash with it. Tension for the sake of me.

Eyrnion jumps in then before I can say anything further.

"I will take you, Elessar, for I was there. I would be happy to."

He simply wishes to protect me. A part of me knows that. He will be well aware how difficult returning to the place of Taenor's death will be and he hopes to shield me. But something about his eagerness to jump in, as if I am not fit, rankles. I am filled with resentment, for why does he attempt to undermine me in front of my friends? Perhaps he worries the darkness will claim me again, but it will _not_!

And so my next words are perhaps not the most sensible, driven, as they are, by anger not commonsense.

"There is no need for that, Erynion." It is in my most imperious voice that I speak. "I will go and I need you to remain here to watch over the settlement." The look in his eyes could only be described as horror and I turn away so I do not have to see it. He has no trust in my ability to do this at all.

To tell the truth I have no faith in myself but it is said now and I will get it over with.

"We can go soonest." I pull myself to my feet before my nerves fail me. "I need to gather my papers for you, my information but I will meet you at the horses. Gimli, you will come with us?" I need Gimli to go. His solidness will keep me upright.

"Of course lad, but perhaps tomorrow. . . "

"No, now. Now is the best time." I cannot wait. I have to do this while I have momentum else it will never happen and Erynion will be proved right to doubt.

Perhaps he _is_ right to doubt.

"Legolas!" he calls after me as I stride away and there is desperation in his voice but I do not turn, I simply wave my hand so he knows I have heard him.

It is only when I reach my room I realise what it is I have agreed to. I cannot go there.

The fear as I think on it rises up and chokes me. It is an all-consuming beast that claws at my heart and I am left gasping. I cannot not breathe, I cannot breathe for it strangles me. And so I lean on my desk to keep myself upright as my heart pounds so fast it will surely break, my hands will not keep still, they shake like a child's and I struggle for breath against the panic that swamps me.

Then suddenly she is there. Her arms surround me, her head rests on my shoulder, her voice is in my ear.

"It is alright," she whispers. "It is alright," and that is all she says but she envelops me with her peace and calm and love.

And I can breathe again.

"I cannot do this," I say when I trust myself to speak. "I cannot do this Maewen."

"You _can_." She does not move, she does not leave, she does not pull back. "You can do it Legolas and I will be with you. I know you can return there. You have stood before the Black Gates and faced your own death. You can do this."

"The Black Gates were easier," I reply and right at this moment I really think they were.

We stand then, together, her arms still around me, her love still encompassing me and it is so good. We are on the same page, she has my back as she has always done and I can almost believe things can be right between us again.

"Tell me you don't believe it Legolas," she whispers in my ear. "Tell me you did not mean what you said before. How can you not know I love you?"

And my moment of peace shatters.

I turn to look at her. Her solemn eyes cut through me and the words choke me.

"How can you think I know it, when you reject me?"

"I do not!" She cries and I wonder that she cannot see it, she cannot see what she does to me.

"I am sorry I am not the Legolas you fell in love with but he is gone and I cannot get him back. But everytime you reject my friends, my life, the sealonging. . . you reject me. Every time it hurts Maewen. And if you detest those pieces of me so much, how can you love the whole?"

She says nothing, simply stares and I watch as a single tear rolls down her cheek. What I have to say next is, I think the hardest thing I have ever said, but it is time. I must do this. I am too tired to carry on.

"I release you, Maewen. I love you too much to see you shackled to someone you can no longer love. Whatever vows we have made, I release you from them." And I turn away, back to my desk to shuffle papers randomly. Anything, so I do not have to look at her.

At first there is not a sound and she does not move. A heavy weight of silence descends upon us, pressing me down, crushing the life out of me. Will she not just accept my offer and leave? Does she have to draw this agony out.

When she finally speaks it is a relief just to hear her voice, even though I may never hear it say my name with love again.

"That is not your choice to make, Legolas." She says firmly, as if she is angry. "You cannot release me because I will not go."

And for a moment I do not understand her.

Her hand falls on my shoulder then as I stare stoically at the papers that litter my desk.

"Look at me, Legolas. You owe me that courtesy at least."

And when I do turn around she is crying. It hurts my heart more than anything else because I do not like to make her cry. I can count on one hand how many times that has happened all through our many years together. When I left for Imladris was one. Perhaps she knew then it was then end of us?

"You have _not_ changed." She says and I rage inside. Why will she not accept this. What is it she wants from me? I cannot be who she wants any longer.

But then she moves forward, places her hand upon my chest where the heat of it burns through my tunic, and tilts her head to look up at me through her tears.

"The boy who was open and friendly and curious, the one who loved to spend time with the Lakemen, who could not know enough about them—that is the Legolas I love and he is still here. He is the one who seeks out mortal friends, and draws them to himself like moths to a flame. The young man who yearned for adventure, who chaffed against the restriction of our woods, who burned with excitement at the prospect of seeing Imladris—I always loved him and that is the Legolas who has lead us here to new lands. You would have left the wood, Legolas, war or no war, sealonging or not. I knew that and I loved it and I dreamed to go with you. I still love that, all of it. Your openness and your love for adventure. You have not changed. I just forgot what it was I loved. I forgot myself and I am sorry."

I do not know what to say.

"I know I have scarred you." She continues, "I can only hope it will heal, that you will give me a second chance. I was afraid, Legolas. For all my dreams of escape and adventure. For all that I thought I was courageous and strong, I was afraid. But I still loved you and I would not have things any different."

Standing before me she looks fragile and delicate in a way I am not used to my Maewen looking and I am consumed by the need to protect her, to hold her, to wipe away her tears and this is not how I imagined it would be. Not at all.

"Can you still love me?" She asks, "Can we start again?"

And it is then I hold her close.

"I pushed you too hard, too fast and I did not wait for you. Maewen, you are not alone with fault here."

And I realise it is true. I returned from the war, the sealonging roaring in my ears and I rushed into my next adventure. I embraced it all but I gave her no time to adjust, no time to catch up, no time to be a part of my planning rather than a pawn buffeted by my storm.

"Of course we can start again," I murmur into her hair as her head rests against my chest. " Of course I still love you. I never stopped."


	24. Chapter 24

How do you describe love?

The kind of love which that binds you to another who you do not know. They are not your family, they have not raised you, you have not grown alongside one another. They walk out of the haze of life and engulf you. Against all odds you find each other and against all odds you find you can no longer exist without them.

If I were to describe love I would say it has hazel eyes that shine with light and spark with fire. A sweep of hair the colour of which you can never pin down, it is both brown and golden, copper too. All of those at once.

It is stubbornness and strength, courage and determination, and oh so feisty. You do not cross my love if you wish to survive intact! It is beauty and softness, empathy and calm. It is my oasis.

It is Maewen.

It is many years now we have loved one another. We have laughed and cried together, fought alongside each other, loved and lost together, and until now, we had forgotten it all. We lost ourselves in the chaos of our lives and forgot what exactly what our love was.

Now, it seems to me, it has reignited like a bonfire in my heart and it consumes me.

And so it is as we journey towards the place where Taenor fell I am not a churning twist of anxiety and trepidation as I expected. Instead I walk amongst the clouds and all I notice is the soft touch of her hand upon my arm, the brush of her hair across my cheek as she flicks it across her shoulder, the calm peaceful drift of her fea as it entwines with mine.

My mind is filled with images unbidden. A secret smile across the training fields I was sure was just for me. A shy glance by the fire before I had even garnered the courage to speak to her. The two of us, on our own, in the trees, laughing until we cried at something foolish neither of us could remember. I think Maewen and I need some time together. Just us. No people to care for, no friends to distract us.

Just her, and I.

But even now when she fills my mind I am neglectful. I do not notice when she slips back. I do not see the moment my feeling of love becomes all memory and not reality for she is no longer there. It is Gimli who notices instead.

"Where is your lass, Legolas?"

The words cut across my meandering mind and pull me up short for when I look around I realise, she is not there.

"When did she go?" My question is an admission of my neglect and inattention and I do not wait for an answer. She will not be far away and I must find her. "Stay here." I say to Aragorn and Gimli. "Stay here, I will not be long."

I curse myself and my daydreaming as I head back the way we have come. Always my inattention, the ease at which my mind wanders, is my undoing. Will I _never_ learn?

I am right, It is not long before I find her, a few twists in the path only. She stands still and alone and she weeps.

I am beside her in a heartbeat, arms around her.

"Maewen, what is wrong? Tell me what is wrong." She is awash with grief. I do not have to be her lover to feel it.

At first she says nothing, simply soaks my shoulder with her tears, chest heaving in pain. But as I hold her the weeping subsides and her voice, when she speaks, is hoarse and tired.

"A memory," she whispers. "The last time we were here, I was speaking with Taenor. You were running in the trees and we watched you."

I do remember that. It was a good day and the trees implored me to be free so I ran. I came down here and pleaded with her to join me and she did. For that short time we were happy, before the nightmare.

"It was the last time I spoke to him," she says, "His last words to me were how well you were. Forgive me," she pulls away, stands tall, wipes the tears from her eyes. "I am here to support you, not mire you down in my own grief."

And I realise, like an cloudburst in my mind, how selfish I have been. I am not the only one who has lost.

I reach out and wipe the tears away for her. I should have done this so much earlier but in the midst of my own pain I have forgotten to care for hers.

"I have not allowed you to grieve. Oh Maewen, I am sorry."

I do not know how to make this right.

I do the only thing I can do, my words are clumsy, they always have been, and so I use my touch. It is so much easier to show love with that. I take her hands in mine, I caress her cheek.

"Do not apologise for sorrow," I say. "You _do_ support me, always. Let me help you in return." I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. "I know you miss him. Do not be afraid to show it for my sake." And I am rewarded by a smile, hesitant but it is there.

"Your friends will think me foolish," she says, "They will wonder why you have saddled yourself with a girl who cries when she should be strong."

"They will not!" I am adamant. She always thinks too little of herself. "They will wonder how I managed to acquire such a gem when I am such a fool myself."

"I am not a gem," She shakes her head at me. "I am not what you deserve. I am only a girl."

Only a girl? If she could just once see herself as I see her.

"And I am only a boy," I reply. "A boy who lacks focus and drifts along in dreams when he should be listening. A boy who cannot sit still when he should be still, who climbs the heights instead of keeping his feet on the ground. A boy who should never have been a leader . . . And without you I would fail. You are not just a girl, you are Maewen and I love you."

I do not know if she hears me, but at least I have said it.

And so I lead her back, back along the path to where Aragorn and Gimli stand waiting and she hangs her head as though she is ashamed but I will not let her. She has nothing to be ashamed about.

It is obvious she has been crying and so there is no point in trying to conceal it.

"It is difficult to return here." I say to Aragorn, by way of explanation. "Our loss is still fresh." And I throw him a challenge with my eyes as I hold her close. I dare him to think less of her for this. It is a pointless challenge, for I know in my heart he will not. Aragorn never judges needlessly. He is skilled at knowing others hearts. Even my own, even when I hide it from him.

Instead he looks at Maewen, his eyes filled with concern—not pity, which she would hate—only concern for her wellbeing. I keep her near as we continue on and it feels good to be the strong one, good to protect her, good to the one who helps rather than the object of people's whispers and worry.

It almost distracts me from our nearness to the site of Taenor's death. Almost. . . But not quite.

Here is the place we ran in the trees, and over there, the moment I realised the men were nearing us and their motives were destruction. A few steps further and we have dropped down and are running now to positions to defend ourselves, and here. . . The place the first arrow flew.

When we step forth into the clearing where Taenor fell the memories accost me and I can not run from them. Sometimes my crystal clear elven memory is a curse. Sometimes I wish for the soft blurring of truth the mortals experience, rather than the harsh reality that floods into my mind.

I am drawn to a rock across the other side and I move away from Maewen towards it. I remember this place, but last time I was here it was covered in blood, my blood, Taenor's blood. I hear her call my name as I go but I can not reply. There is too much all at once in my senses. They are filled with the sights and sounds of death. I remember the slice of the Haradrim sword across my side, the certainty of impending death, before Taenor was there to save me. I remember the grin on his face and the jest on his lips as he reached out his hand to me.

I remember the arrow that I felt but did not see until it sliced through his throat, the crimson cascade of blood and the shock of realisation on his face in that brief moment when he understood his fate. I remember him fall.

Then suddenly it is not him dead at my feet but another. It is my brother. My hero, my mentor, my protector. And he is gone, an empty shell. I search for his fea in desperation. Always the feel of that soul has been with me. Now it is gone, entirely and completely gone. In its place is a ragged empty hole of blackness and I cannot feel him, _I cannot feel him!_

Always my brother has been there. Holding my hand, braiding my hair, guiding my steps, saving me from myself.

"Legolas, you will be the death of me," he would sigh when I once again found myself in trouble he had to extract me from. Little did he know I really would.

There is a cry of anguish from someone, somewhere. I do not recognise the voice as my own. And then I am on my knees. Shaking my brother, screaming his name, anything, anything, to bring him back to me—and this is all my fault, all _my_ fault.

"Legolas!"

A voice sounds in my ear. There is a strong arm around my shoulders. A friend holds me while I weep, and as I come back to myself from the horror which is memory I realise it is my other brother, my human brother. The one who is nothing like me at all and yet somehow knows me. The one who accepts me as I am as much as I frustrate him. The one who will leave me eventually too, but I will not think of that.

Aragorn is on his knees beside me. Aragorn it is who cradles my head upon his shoulder. Aragorn holds me tight and brings me back.

Aragorn it is who saves me.


	25. Chapter 25

**Especially for Arasa17 to make up for the long wait last time!**

It takes a long time to free myself from the cobwebs of nightmare that cling to my mind, the echo of past tragedy that seems just a heartbeat away. But while I do, while I struggle to return to the here and now, Aragorn simply sits in silence and anchors me to myself. He is stillness and peace and calm.

It is only when my heartbeat slows and I can breathe that I realise we are alone.

"Where is Maewen?" My voice is hoarse and my throat sore.

Aragorn smiles then.

"Gimli has her, they go to investigate rock formations or some such dwarven interest."

"That will bore her to tears!" Despite myself, I laugh at the ridiculousness of that idea and Aragorn places a hand gently upon my knee. His eyes too, are gentle.

"They give us space, Legolas,"

I suddenly realise I am exhausted. It is as if my tears have washed all trace of me away.

"Tell me of him."

It takes me a second to realise he is still speaking.

"Tell you what? You have met Taenor, Aragorn. There is nothing I can say that you do not already know."

"Tell me of your brother." His face lets me know he is determined and when Aragorn looks like that there is no dissuading him.

"This has nothing to do with my brother." Despite myself, despite knowing it is hopeless to avoid the question, I still try.

"Does it not, Legolas? You know that is not true. You hold him so close to yourself, anything I do know I have had to drag out of you."

I sigh and it is a long and dejected one. I do not have the energy to fight him on this today. I am defeated.

"You know it all anyway, Aragorn for I am sure Gimli has told you, as Maewen told him. My flightiness, my distraction, my total inability to concentrate on what I should. . . All those things about me which frustrate you so, they killed him. I killed him. If I had struck the blow myself it could not have been more my fault."

"That is not the story Gimli told me," he says firmly. " He told a tale of youth and inexperience, plus an empathy with all living things combining to cause a tragedy which was no-ones fault."

"Then Gimli has it wrong."

"Does he?" Aragorn turns my head so I _must_ look at him. "Does he have it wrong, Legolas, or do you?"

"I was _there_ ," I cry. "I know what happened for I lived it. I still live it."

"No-one blames you for this Legolas, no-one who hears the story. No-one who was there. Not Erynion, nor Maewen, nor your father, nor Gimli or I. You are the only one. It was tragic, and unfair, but not your fault." He reaches out then and lays his hand against my head.

"You must stop locking him away. Are there not precious memories in here that would help you?"

"Precious memories?" I gasp. "I can remember nothing but pain."

"Before the pain. Tell me something from before it. Describe him to me."

I do not want to. It only reminds me of what I have lost. I try not to think of him _ever._ But Aragorn will not let this go. I know him and he will push me until I give in.

"He was the leader I will never be. In that he was like you, Aragorn. Intuitive, thoughtful, charismatic and focused. Far more a Sindar than Silvan. The image of my father as I am not. Our people loved him, they _adored_ him." As I speak I see the similarities between my brother and my friend as I have never seen them before. They _are_ alike.

"You would have liked him, Aragorn. He would not have driven you to distraction as I so often do."

"I like _you."_

I scoff at that.

"Of course for we are friends, but he would have been better at this than I. He could sit in your council meetings and not find his mind captured by the wind or the birds. . . Or the sea."

Aragorn is frowning. Something I have said has displeased him but for the life of me I do not know what. He asked me to describe my brother after all. Now he does not like what he hears?

"What?" I ask, "What have I said?"

He drops his head in his hands then, despondent and suddenly miserable. A silence follows which has my stomach churning so I am relieved when he speaks again.

"I told you yesterday I had failed you if you did not realise how important your friendship is to me. I am sorry, Legolas, if I have somehow made you feel not enough, if you think I wish you would change, for nothing could be further from the truth."

He mumbles it into his hands and I am filled with a need to make this better. He seems so unhappy, and I am used to knowing I am less than perfect. He is not the only one who my silvan nature annoys after all. I left a string of tutors pulling out their hair back in the Greenwood. Even my brother who loved me had his patience sorely tried at times.

And so I reach out to squeeze his shoulder.

"I know you love me, Aragorn. And I know I am not the most useful friend at times, not the easiest to be around. It is something I am used to."

But he shakes his head. It is not enough to ease his heartache and I do not know what else to say.

"Legolas," he raises his head and looks me in the eye. "In truth, I envy you your silvan nature, your ability to see joy in the simplest of things, the way you feel the world around us. Through your eyes I get a glimpse of something marvellous, something that would otherwise pass me by. I bear a heavy weight and sometimes it feels as if the very life is crushed out of me. Then you will arrive, all joy and light, a breath of fresh air, a conduit to a better place, a more satisfying life. You uplift me. You help me remember my true self, the Estel I used to be.

"I know when my problems crowd around me I can be short tempered and impatient. That is my fault, not yours. Please do not change. Change nothing for you are perfect as you are."

I am left speechless, for this is perhaps the first time in my life someone has said they love the very things about me that irritate most others. My father loves me—but he has to. Erynion loves me—he has learned to. Maewen loves all parts of me and I have never understood that. Even Gimli counts to ten so often when I am at my flightiest, I know he does. He is not very good at hiding his annoyance, much as he tries. But Aragorn does not stop there.

"All due respect to your brother," he says, "For I do not know him and I am sure he is, as you say, a fine man. Perhaps you are right and if I met him I _would_ like him. But I do not want a composed, thoughtful, focused Sindar prince for my friend. I want a wild, chaotic, Silvan one!

"I thank the Valar for the happenings in our lives that sent _you_ to Imladris that day, that caused Elrond to choose _you_ for the Fellowship, that bought you to my side. I would not be without you, Legolas. I do not want a replacement. When you arrive in Minas Tirith and find me overburdened and cantankerous, promise me you will remember the love for you that lies at the heart of me."

He brings me to tears, he makes me cry, for I can feel those tears spill down my face. No-one has _ever_ spoken to me this—save Maewen.

"Promise me!" He implores.

"I promise," I grin at him through the tears for I feel suddenly and strangely euphoric. "I will tell you, you are a bad tempered Gondorian who needs to appreciate me."

And he laughs.

My joking lifts the weight of his words from our shoulders so we can listen to them and yet move on.

"Have you two had time enough to chat about the flowers?" It is Gimli behind us and we both jump in surprise. "The lass and I have exhausted any remotely interesting scenery here."

I turn to look at him and Maewen beside him. Despite his lighthearted words they both look deadly serious. Maewen especially so and I leap to my feet to reassure her. I wonder what it is she expected to find here?

"We have had time a plenty, Gimli," I quip to let them know I am well. "Aragorn has been admitting how honoured and blessed he is to know me."

And Gimli splutters with badly concealed laughter.

"Valar, help us. Have you lost your mind Aragorn?" He exclaims and even Maewen smiles at that.

She is uncertain when she approaches me as we ready to leave—and I must admit I am not unhappy to depart this place. She sees the tracks of tears on my cheeks and it bothers her.

"How are you?" She asks softly and her slender fingers rise to wipe the wetness from my face.

"I am alright." I say firmly, for I think it is important that she knows this without doubt. "I am better than I imagined I would be."

"Good," she says and then she grins up at me, "I must say, Legolas, Gimli is delightful but he has this most tedious fascination with rocks!" The last is a whisper so Gimli will not hear and the joy bubbles up within me. She is so _funny._

The trip back to the settlement is a quiet one. Aragorn is watchful, eyes ever on me, I know, but this time it does not rankle, I do not feel judged. And Maewen hovers also, on my peripheries always just there, just where I may need her. I do not blame them for their anxiety but it is unnecessary.

My mind, as we walk, is filled with Laerion.

It is as if, describing him to Aragorn, has unlocked a floodgate, opened up a treasure trove of memory that I had all but forgotten. I am awash with them.

Laerion, holding my hand as we walked through the woods, patiently exclaiming over my discovery of insects under the fallen leaves.

Laerion on the training fields teaching me the bow. Strong arms around his small brother as he showed me the intricacies of aim and power.

Laerion arguing with my tutor on a day when I had been particularly trying, a day I had spent with my mind outside in the sun and the trees rather than on the words and tactics I should have been listening to.

"Leave him be!" He raged, "How dare you crush his spirit, his wildness. Can you not see he is something special?"

How had I forgotten that? My brother thought me special. He thought me a jewel to be treasured.

Why has this memory been gone from my mind so long?

It is because I am so lost in daydreams and memories that I do not notice the messenger until he is upon us. One of my people, a Silvan, he is breathless and excited. Panicked almost, and I am immediately filled with worry. What has happened? Have I made another error? How are my people? How is Erynion?

"Legolas!" He cries, as he stumbles to my feet wide-eyed. "Legolas, thank goodness I have found you.

"The King is here, Legolas. The King!"


	26. Chapter 26

"The King is here, Legolas. The King!"

I stare at the messenger in confusion and then look towards Aragorn. Why does he tell me the King is here when I already know? He has been with me all day. Has the boy lost his mind?

He sees that my face is completely blank as I frown at him. It is obvious I am confused and so he clarifies.

" _Our_ King! Thranduil, Thranduil is here!"

My Father.

I turn back to Aragorn then.

"Did you send for him?" I will be angry if he has for how dare he?

"No!" Aragorn holds up his hands in supplication, "No Legolas. I wanted to make things good with you, how would I achieve that, sending for your father behind your back? No matter how tempted I might have been. It was not me."

Maewen then. We have even discussed it but I told her not to.

" You!" I cry at her, "How many times did I tell you I did not want him here?"

But she does not even flinch.

"It was not me, Legolas." she replies. " I respected your wishes not to call him even though it went against my instincts. I promise you I did not do this."

So it must have been Erynion.

Erynion who does not trust me to lead our people. Who seemingly undermines me at every turn. It must have been him. I am suddenly filled with a white hot rage, out of nowhere it engulfs me. Wait till I see him!

"We had best go then." I snap, not waiting for the others to keep pace with me as I stride off in anger. "Heaven forbid we keep my father waiting."

"Legolas," It is Maewen, running to catch up. "This is not necessarily a bad thing, your father being here."

"Is it not? Is it not a bad thing that Erynion mistrusts me so badly he sends for help behind my back?"

"You do not know it was him." She lays a hand upon my arm to slow me down. "Look at me, Legolas." She forces me then to stop and breathe. "You do not know it was Erynion who sent for him."

"If not Aragorn, not you, not him, then who? He must have done this. He watches me with such disapproval in his eyes lately." Now forced to be still the anger which appeared from nowhere ebbs away, as suddenly as it appeared. It is strange how lately it overtakes me so instantly.

"He watches you with _concern_ in his eyes, Legolas, and nothing else. He worries about you as I do. He has your back as he always has."

Always Maewen has been able to pour calm waters upon my fire. Always she can soothe my wildness and steer me straight when my control is in danger of disappearing. She knows the right thing to say and the right time to say it.

She knows _me._

 _"_ Calm yourself before you see him Legolas, and before you meet your father. Do not march in there shouting. You do not want your father to see you out of control, I know you do not."

She leans forward towards me, her forehead touching mine. Our breath mingling. The feel of her skin on mine, her warm soft breath on my cheek stills my thudding heart. She reaches up and clasps my face between her hands as she leans back again to look at me.

"Calmness." She whispers, "Take charge of that wild spirit, my beloved. I know you can!"

She used to do this often for me back in the Greenwood, when we roamed on patrol and the blackness of the South coated my soul, or in the Stronghold when the endless bickering of politics twisted me in knots. She, more than anyone can help me find my focus. She has not done it for a long time, I think because she has had no faith I would listen.

It is good to have her back.

Aragorn reaches us then and places a hand upon my arm as he stands beside me.

"Let us do this, then, Legolas," he smiles. "Although I must say, had I known Thranduil would call in I may well have not been quite so eager to accept your invitation." It is the final drop of sun to banish my dark clouds. Suddenly everything feels brighter.

"Had I known he was coming I may have arranged to be somewhere else myself." I grumble and he laughs. My Father is not someone you wish to meet unexpectedly. Even if you are his son.

Still, meet him I must and Maewen is right. I need to do it properly. I will not convict Erynion until I know he is guilty. And if I do, it will not be in public.

My Father stands in the middle of the courtyard when we approach the settlement. Erynion is white faced and pale beside him, nervous and jumpy. Because he is feeling guilty, I wonder?

We have only just emerged from the trees when my father sees us and he is instantly striding towards me. One step, two steps, three of his long paces and I am in his arms.

"My boy," he whispers into my ear.

I have not wanted my King here. I have wanted to prove I could do this, I could cope with this trauma, this nightmare by myself. I did not want another ruler to step in and save me. But he is not only my King he is my father as well and oh I have missed him.

Oh, how I have wanted my father here to comfort me in my pain.

How it is good to feel his strength and his protection.

I feel as I did when I was tiny and he would arrive in the midst of my childish dramas and instantly make everything right in the world, when I was naive enough to believe my father could save me from all danger.

He holds me at arms length then and looks at me.

"How are you, Legolas?" His voice, which can make strong men tremble, is soft and gentle when he speaks to me and I can feel his anxiety swirling around me. He holds nothing back, hides nothing from me.

"I am well, Father. I am well." I want to reassure him but he is far too clever for that.

"I do not believe you," he says bluntly and he sweeps around to include Erynion in our discussion. "I have just been discussing with Erynion why it is, your second in command has not alerted me to happenings here."

So that is why Erynion looks so pale. He has been on the receiving end of my father's tongue and that is never pleasant. Maewen was right. It was not Erynion who called him here.

"I asked him not to Father." I am not about to let Erynion take the blame for my decisions, but my father is not placated.

"Just because you are foolish does not mean he should be. Sometimes a second must take things into their own hands."

"Father," I lower my voice and speak with urgency. I know him well enough to know this is his worry speaking, but this is not the place, in front of our people. "Let us speak of this inside if we must. It is good you are here. I am pleased to see you." And it is the truth.

He collects himself then, straightens himself to be, if it is possible, even more regal and finally his gaze falls upon Aragorn who stand silently, quietly behind me, hoping I think, that he may be totally overlooked. But he is a King now and my father is nothing if not a stickler for protocol.

"Elessar." He inclines his head as a show of respect. "I am pleased to see you are here at least. Perhaps my son is not quite as foolish as he first appears."

"Thranduil." Aragorn bows low. He has always had good manners. And then he straightens and looks my father in the eye—he is also hard to intimidate. "Your son is far from foolish. Look around you." And he indicates our settlement and the forest with a wide swing of his arms.

"It is impressive, I admit that." Father says grudgingly, and I think I even see a hint of a smile behind his regal exterior. Then he turns to me putting his arm around my shoulders. He towers over me in height. "Come Legolas, let us retire somewhere and you can tell me all you have done here." And much more besides, I think to myself, but I lead him away, towards my rooms. Away from watching eyes.

Where am I going to put him? I think to myself. Aragorn already has our finest rooms. And we are overflowing with the men here from Minas Tirith. Where will my father's retinue go? I can only hope Maewen will somehow magically solve this logistical problem for me while I am closeted away here and my Father can have our rooms, they are the only others appropriate. I will just have to retreat to the bolthole Maewen has taken herself off to and sleep with her there —if she will have me.

I wonder then why, when he seems displeased with me and I am about to recieve a lecture, I am so diverted by worrying about sleeping arrangements.

He turns to me as soon as the door closes behind us.

"Legolas, tell me the truth. How are you?"

I sink into a chair then, depressed, for I suddenly do not have the energy necessary to attempt subterfuge with him.

"I am better than I have been." It is an honest answer and yet not the whole truth. "Why are you here Father. Who sent for you?"

"No-one sent for me. Do not take me for a fool boy. Do you not think I know you well enough to tell when things do not go well with you? That letter you wrote me said it all and even had it not, I know what Taenor meant to you."

"I am sorry," At the mention of Taenor I am filled with a rush of remorse and I do not know how to make this up to him. "He was your friend and I lost him, I lost him for you father." It all pours out now, all my self loathing and blame. " He is one more person you care for I have taken from you. Laerion, Mother, now Taenor. How do you even look at me Father?"

I bury my head in my hands. I do not know where this has come from but I cannot face him and I cannot face his pain. Pain I have caused him.

"What are you talking about, Legolas?" He is kneeling on the floor beside me and he takes my hands in his, peeling them away from my face. "Legolas?" I see his face before me as he cups my own face gently in his hands.

"You are not to blame for this."

"Taenor was only here because you needed to make sure I did not completely destroy our people." I have known since the first moment he arrived here that Taenor was my father's insurance in case of my errors.

"That is _not_ true, Legolas." He is insistent. "If anyone is to blame for Taenor's presence here it is me."

"Because I am such a mess. Because I cannot _do_ this and you know I cannot."

"Because I could not bear to let you go. I have no doubts about your leadership, Legolas. Do you think I would let you bring my precious people all this way, to a wilderness, if I did not trust in your ability to keep them safe? You _can_ do it. You _have_ done it and I knew I could trust their lives to you. I sent Taenor here for my sake. Because I needed news of you. Because I needed someone to be my eyes and ears to reassure me you were safe. Because letting you go was _hard_ and I failed to do it successfully. Taenor was here solely because of my weakness."

I am astonished. I do not know why for my Father is always full of surprises.

"I did not know... I thought..."

"Well I would hardly admit it to you child," he smiles at me sheepishly. "You are grown, I have no right to keep you close any longer. But you have always been special Legolas. It is hard to think of losing you." He reaches out and strokes my hair clear of my face as he used to do when I was young and flustered from running in corridors and getting into mischief.

"You will not lose me Father."

"I already have, I think." He sighs and pulls me close. He bathes me in his love and I bask in it. It heals my soul. "I am sorry I was not clearer about Taenor's role here," he goes on. "I am sorry I have allowed you to think I spied on you out of distrust for nothing is further from the truth." Then he pauses, pulls back and I flinch. I want that closeness back, but he is frowning now. He is unhappy.

"What did you mean, you have taken your Mother from me? Taken Laerion? What did you mean by that Legolas?"

I wish I had not said that now. It is something we have never spoken of. We do not mention Laerion's name, and we rarely talk of my mother...and _never_ why she left.

But I can see in his eyes he is not going to let me turn from this today.

And I feel sick.


	27. Chapter 27

"What did you mean, Legolas, when you said you have taken your Mother from me? That makes no sense."

I wish I had never mentioned it now. What was I thinking? This is a touchy subject between us and one we usually steer away from. And now he has his teeth into it and he will not let go.

"She left because she thought I hated her. She told me so, and I am sorry for that as well, Father."

"I do not know what she told you, Legolas, but she most definitely did not mean that."

"She told me she could not forget...how angry I was when she pulled me from the dark. How I hated her then...and I did, I did, Father but it was not real. It did not last."

He stands up then, from his place on the floor at my feet and moves to sit in the chair next to me, leaning across to take my hand.

"She did worry about that. It is true. It did torment her that she had hurt you and some of that hurt may have lingered but that is _not_ why she left." It seems strange, so strange to be speaking of my mother with him after so many years of silence.

"She left because of me, Legolas. Because she could not forgive me for Laerion. Because she decided, if she stayed, the resentment she felt would destroy us. This way, although we are apart, there is hope things may have healed when I reach the other side of the sea." He looks devastated as I have never seen my father look and that frightens me. "She blamed me for the loss of Laerion and she blamed me for the damage that loss did to you."

"She blamed you? Why Father? It was me, not you! It was all me."

He squeezes my hand in his, tight, so tight it is almost painful.

"You were the least to blame in that, Legolas. Tell me you have not carried guilt over it all these years."

I cannot tell him that because, of course, I have. I have carried a heavy burden of guilt that has weighed me down and broken me. When I do not answer him, he knows it.

We do not talk about Laerion, we do not. It is an unwritten rule between us. He is a subject too painful, too likely to hurt us both, to mention. I am uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation and squirm in my chair. I do not want to hear what my father thinks about Laerion's death and my part in it.

It can only be bad.

I would run from here if I could. In fact my body screams at me to do that. Leave! Leave! It tells me. Do not sit here and listen to this. You will only discover how much he despises you. The urge to run is so strong I leap to my feet, but he stands as well, hands on my shoulders so I can not go anywhere.

"Too long have I allowed this to languish," he says firmly. "I was frightened of traumatising you further, but perhaps I have caused even more damage by not addressing it."

"No, Father," I gasp twisting against his firm hold. "I do not want to talk about it. There is nothing to say."

"There is a multitude of things to say, Legolas and we _will_ speak if it now." He will not let me back away. He will not let me _move_ and I am overwhelmed by panic.

"No! no! no!" The panic gives me strength and I wrench myself free from him, but I cannot get past him and out the door as I wish. Instead I find myself with my back against the wall and I throw my arms out to protect me because I do not want to _hear_ this.

"Oh Legolas," I slide down the wall to huddle on the ground then and he is beside me. He takes me in his arms and holds me still. "Oh little one, How have I been so remiss as to let you hurt this badly? There is nothing to fear from what I have to say."

He sits there then holding me tight as my panic subsides and my thudding heart slows. He says nothing more, simply keeps me still and it is reassuring, even in the midst of my upset. Reassuring that perhaps he will not abandon me as I fear.

I remember him doing this when my mother first pulled me back from the darkness. When being a part of the world hurt me and they discussed in hushed tones at my bedside the merits of making me sail to Valinor. He would come and sit and hold me when I screamed from nightmares which forced me to relive my brother's death. He would read to me, tell me stories of life in the stronghold, relay any gossip he thought may amuse me. I seldom answered but that did not deter him. He would just sit, and talk and stroke my hair, healing me simply with his presence. He needed no response from me. He spent hours with me then. I have no idea how he managed to achieve any of his normal work needed to run our kingdom during those days.

"This is my fault, Legolas," he whispers eventually into my hair. "You are not to blame. It is _my_ fault. I am sorry I have hurt you so."

"You were not even there Father." I am calm now and have found my voice for he is still here. He does not hate me, he will not leave me. He is still _here._

 _"_ Listen to me Legolas," He says firmly. "I want you to listen to what I have to say and _hear_ it. I am the King. _My_ decisions led to you being in the south and your brother with you. Bad decisions made for the wrong reasons. I knew you were not ready."

Despite myself that annoys me. I hated the way they held me back.

"I _was_ ready. Erynion had been to the south twice by then and I was easily his equal!"

"I did not mean you were not gifted with the bow and your talents in the field were obvious. But Legolas you are different, you have always been different. There are none as sensitive to the trees, and the land, as you. That was why we had to be careful with you. Especially in the South. I knew that. I allowed you to badger me into letting you go when I had doubts, because the waiting was making you unhappy. I had a foreboding as to what would happen then and I turned my mind from it. I told myself it was nonsense."

He has never told me this before, that he had a warning of our disaster. The knowledge shatters me.

"Laerion was as concerned about you going as I was. He knew the risks you would be exposed to. That was why he demanded to go with you. He trusted no one else to keep you safe and it would have destroyed him to have lost you."

"It has destroyed _me_ to lose _him."_ I cannot keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"It has destroyed us all." The sadness in my fathers voice tears at my heart. "I allowed him to convince me, Legolas, because he was so distraught at the idea of you going without him. I allowed myself to believe he was right when he told me he could keep you safe better than anyone. It was not true, of course. His love for you clouded his vision. He could not make the rational decisions he needed to. And I. . . I made my own decisions as a father wanting to please my sons, not a commander doing what was best for my people. I have paid a heavy price. But yours, I think, has been even heavier."

I do not know what to think. It is as if he has turned my world upside down and everything I thought I knew was not what I thought it to be. Deep inside of me the twisted ugly knot of guilt and pain that I have carried for so long begins to unwind.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" I ask him. "Why did I not know this?" If I am honest, I do not know if I would have listened before now but that is not the point.

He takes my hand in his as he replies.

"I was afraid." He says quietly and that admission terrifies me for my father is _never_ afraid. "Your mother resented me for my part in this and I was frightened you would resent me also. Why wouldn't you? And you were all I had left. I did not know you were labouring under such pain all these years...but then I haven't looked closely enough to see it either. I haven't wanted to see it. Can you forgive me Legolas? I cannot forgive myself but can you?"

How can I not forgive him? How can I not love him? He is my father.

And he has lost so much, a son, a wife, his friend. I will not take anything more from him. He is right, it is just the two of us. All we have is each other.

"Aragorn says Laerion's death was a series of events that combined to make a tragedy that was no-ones fault," I say quietly. "I think I am inclined to agree with him. Of course I can forgive you Father." In fact it is proving much easier to forgive him than it has been trying to forgive _myself_ all these years. "How can I resent you for being my father? For trying to please me? Fathers are not perfect, and nor are Kings. I am sorry I pressurised you to let me go South."

"Elessar speaks a lot of sense. . . For a mortal." He smiles at me then and pulls himself up of the floor, reaching down with a hand out to help me up. "Come Legolas, show me this new land of yours. We can speak more as we go."

And so we wander through the settlement and he is interested in all parts of it. We talk as we have not talked for years and I am feeling giddy with a strange relief. The thought he somehow held Laerion's death against me all these years. No matter how patient, how loving he was towards me, is gone. It leaves me feeling so light I think my feet may lift off the ground, as if I could reach to the skies if I wished it. I want to take to the trees and run but I cannot imagine my Father joining me in _that._ I think, perhaps, he is as relieved as I am, for his smile as we walk is a brilliant one.

We end up in Maewen's glade. An oasis of the Greenwood I built her and he is astonished. A joy burns within him when he sees this part of his woods so far from home.

"I made this for Maewen," I explain, "so she would have a place just her own, so Ithilien would feel more like home."

"How _is_ Maewen?" He asks me. "How are the two of you?"

I hesitate. Do I tell him of our troubles? A large part of me does not want to admit we are anything but perfect but then I remember he has had problems with my Mother. Perhaps he will understand?

"It has been hard," I admit in the end. "We have been in a bad place with each other because of fault on both sides. She has struggled here and I have contributed to that. There was too much change. But I think we have found ourselves again. I think things improve now. I love her and she loves me. What else matters but that Father. . . In the end?"

"What else indeed." He says sadly and I know he thinks of my mother. Then he changes the subject. "You have built something exceptional here, Legolas. You and your people. I should not be surprised, of course. You have always been exceptional."

I laugh out loud at that.

"You mistake me for Laerion, Father!" It feels good to be able to say my brothers name. "I am not exceptional, He was the Golden Prince!"

He grasps my elbow firmly and turns me towards him. The smile on his face has faded. He is deadly serious.

"Do you often compare yourself to your brother?" He asks.

"How can I not? He was magnificent, He was perfect. . . And I . . . I am not. I am Silvan and wild and sometimes chaotic." I smile to let him know I am not upset by this. It is just how it is. "I have felt I owed it to our people to try and replace him, but now—I realise that is impossible. I can never do it."

But my Father shakes his head.

"You do not see yourself as you really are, Legolas." He reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand. "Laerion could never have achieved what you have done here. It would have been beyond him. The woods reborn from nothing, from a wasteland. He simply did not have the ability to reach the trees the way you do. The alliances you have built with Men to help our people grow, he did not have the ability or desire to struggle through misunderstanding and distrust to reach a place of mutual benefit. He did not have your affinity with mortals. I could not have sent him here and he would _not_ have wished to go.

"Elrond would not have chosen Laerion for his Fellowship. He saw something special in you, the same thing I see, I imagine, a light, missing in so many of us now. Your brother had his strengths and you have yours. He could not have matched them. And he would have been the first one to admit that. He thought you as precious as I do."

I am stunned.

No one has ever said this and I have _never_ thought it. My brother had so many strengths, was so amazing, so wonderful. Can I really match him. I am truly his equal?

It is a moment of discovery and I am without words.


	28. Chapter 28

There is nothing so good as walking beneath the stars.

The night sky filled with its sprinkling of light is a peaceful balm to the soul. I love it. I have always loved it. I gravitated to the stars as soon as I could walk. Laerion used to tell me I should have been born on the shores of Cuiviénen.

So when my Father has retired to my rooms to sleep, then I walk. The dark velvet night with its diamond lights is the canopy above my head and I have much to think on.

My feet, by their own accord lead me back into Maewen's glade. I do not know why, perhaps I hoped to find her? I am not disappointed in that for she _is_ there. She sits under the trees in the edge of it, face turned to the sky, bathed in starlight.

She is beautiful.

I stop and watch her. I am mesmerised and I soak up the vision of her beauty like a man dying of thirst in the desert. I cannot get enough of looking at her. I never have.

My thoughts, as I watch, drift to my Mother for I am disappointed in her and that is hard to admit. I have seen my father's pain, the devastation at her loss and it upsets me. I can understand her resentment, her anger at the decisions he made which cost her her son but he lost Laerion also and he bears so much guilt, such a heavy burden. Could she not have _tried_ to forgive him?

Nothing he did was malicious, nothing was done with anything but love for us, no matter how misguided. Was it worth deserting him and leaving him alone? Was it worth deserting _me?_

Maewen has resented me. Oh she has been so angry with me. She has cursed every decision I have made and struggled so hard not to be a part of any of them.

But she is still here.

She has not left me, she has not deserted me. She has come to this place she detested amongst people she does not know or even want to know. She has left her family and her home. But she has still loved me, still supported me, still been here for me. As much as she has been filled to the brim with resentment and anger she has never given up on _us._

And I realise in that moment, just how lucky I am.

The last time I found her sitting in this glade we were at odds. I was unsure she even wanted my presence. I had to ask permission to sit with her. That was the evening I told her I wanted to sail.

I do not wish to sail now.

In fact even the idea, that I thought I wished to seems so bizarre, so strange, that I cannot comprehend I ever felt that way. Maewen was correct when she told me it was not right for me.

I do not have to worry whether she wants my company now for she looks across at me and smiles. It is not hesitant or nervous or a smile because she thinks it is what she should do. It is radiance and joy. It is a smile just for me. The kind of smile she used to bestow on me when we were young and in the Greenwood. I think Maewen saved me then. . . When we were first together. After Laerion I thought I would never be happy again, and suddenly. . . She was there and she loved me and I was walking on air!

"Sit with me," She calls and holds a hand out to beckon me closer, so I do. She sighs as she leans her head against my shoulder but it is a sigh of contentment, not frustration.

"How is your Father?"

"My Father is. . . Surprising."

She laughs then, bright and happy.

"Your Father is _always_ surprising!" And she is right.

"We spoke about Laerion," I feel her tense as I say my brothers name. "He blames himself for his death. He says his decisions were bad ones. All these years I have thought he could not help but blame me and he never has."

"I knew he blamed himself, we all know that." She replies. It is something else that surprises me.

"My mother blamed him too." Now we have begun to speak about this I may as well tell her it all. "It is why she left, because of her resentment." I feel a sudden rush of rage at the mention of my mother...how could she? How could she leave _me_ because she did not wish to forgive my father?

The anger is so sudden, so intense, that Maewen feels it too. Our fea twist around each other and so it surges towards her. I am sick of this anger that comes out of nowhere to engulf me. It is so strange.

"You are angry with her." She touches my arm softly, "Do not be Legolas. She lost her son."

"I lost my _brother!_ My father lost a son also. Does that not count?" I snap back.

"And you have struggled, is she not allowed to struggle also? Perhaps her decisions were not rational ones as yours have sometimes not been. Perhaps, now she is in Valinor, she regrets them...but what can she do? She cannot return."

 _That_ thought is an unpleasant one. To be stranded in Valinor and wish you had never gone there? How close did I come to nearly making that very mistake myself in the midst of grief.

"I hope that it is not so." I murmer, "I would not wish that upon her."

"I know," Maewen says gently and she takes my hand in hers lacing her fingers between mine so our grip is unbreakable. Together we are strong.

Still the anger churns within me and I am so sick of it.

"I am tired of this rage within me," I tell her. "I am tired of it."

She looks at me with concern, her eyes dark and serious.

"I have noticed," she says seriously at last, "that you are upset with so many of us. Me, Erynion, Elessar. . . You have always had a quick temper, Legolas, but it does seem to be more obvious." She is careful with her words, I know, for she is wary of my temper turning on her once again. It upsets me that I make her nervous. That is not how it should be, it is not how I want it to be.

Should I tell her? Should I confess to this burning pit of fire that devours me, that has devoured me for years, that I can never acknowledge?

I spoken of so much today, things I would have never imagined I could put voice to. . . Is this one thing more?

"I am angry with Laerion." In the end I whisper it, it sneaks out like an afterthought against my wishes.

"What?" She leans forward, her face creased with a frown as if she cannot believe what she hears. Why would she? It is ludicrous but still it is true. And now—now that I have said those few words the rest rushes out in a torrent of fury. There is no stopping it now even if I wished to.

"I am angry with _Laerion!"_ The second time I say it I shout it. I pull my hand away from her and leap to my feet.

"How dare he? How dare he _do_ this to me? I did not ask for him to save me. I did not want it. I was there as a warrior, could he not have let me face the consequences of my actions as one? Did he have to treat me as a child?"

I cannot stop now that I have started. I have to say it all. So many years have I spent dwelling on this. And Maewen stands and stares.

"My reflexes are fast—were faster than his. Perhaps I could have survived where he did not if he had left well enough alone. And he has left me with this. . . This guilt. . . This terrible guilt that I have to live with all the rest of my life. He has _ruined_ my life Maewen, Ruined it! Sometimes I think I _hate_ him for it."

And when I finally stop there is silence between us.

"And you must hate me now," I say eventually when she does not speak, "I do not blame you. He saved me and all I can do is rage at him. How ungrateful am I? What kind of brother am I?"

This is, of course, why I have never said a word of this before. Not to her, not to anyone. In truth I am ashamed of the way I feel and yet I cannot stop it and slowly, slowly, the anger corrodes my soul.

"I do not hate you, Legolas." Her voice when she at last uses it is soft and calm, it caresses my rough edges. "I understand why you feel the way you do." She reaches out and touches my cheek, gently, the lightest of touches.

"I have no right to feel anger when he saved me. I know it Maewen. I am ashamed of it but I cannot unfeel it. I have tried."

"You have every right."

Now it is my turn to look at _her_ in shock.

"What?"

"You are right. You did not ask for this and it has damaged you. It would have been easier for you had he not stepped in front of you that day. Harder for me, but easier for you." She pulls me close then and rests her head upon my shoulder. "I cannot lie, I am glad Laerion saved you but I do not blame you for being angry. I would too, I think, if it had happened to me."

"You would too?" I feel numb, empty, drained of all emotion. She understands? How can she?

"You must let this go, Legolas," she murmers. "It is harming you. You must acknowledge it and let it go—even if it is only to me you speak of it. Please know I do not judge you. The way you feel is not unreasonable."

"He is my brother, I should not hate him."

"Then do not. Be angry, but try to understand him." She takes a step back and looks me in the eye. "Elessar is a fine warrior," She says and her tone is almost conversational. I wonder why she brings Aragorn into this. "But if you were in battle and his life was in danger would you not try to protect him? Even if it meant risking yourself. You are stronger, faster, more likely to survive and you love him. Would you do that, Legolas?"

"Yes! Without a doubt I would, of course. I could not stand and watch him fall if I could prevent it!"

"And yet, it would leave him bearing the same guilt you do."

And I understand.

Laerion did not mean to hurt me. He did, but that was not his aim. He saved me because he loved me. He saved me because he had no other choice.

And Maewen, she thinks I am justified to feel angry at him. She does not think me a monster for it.

She understands me.

She smiles at me then, as I struggle to make sense of my thoughts. She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me down to the ground beside her as she sits.

"I will let you think on this. We will talk more tomorrow. We _will_ talk me a story, Legolas." She snuggles up against me, her body warm and comforting as she fits perfectly into my side. I know what she does, she seeks to distract me. We used to do this in the South, tell each other stories to remind ourselves of pleasant things in the midst of the dark.

"Tell me of Gimli, I would like to know more of him. He is an interesting creature when he is not speaking about rocks. Tell me how you met."

After years refusing to know anything about my friends or my life she is asking for stories of them. How can I say no?

I cast my mind back to the first time I truly met him. It did not go well.

"He broke my arrows."

"Why would he do that?" Her laugh at the silliness of my statement is sweet like music.

"I may have insulted him. . . Possibly. . . Accidentally . . ."

"Oh Legolas!" She cries, "Between you both how did you ever become friends?"

How did we? I have to stop and think.

"There came a time when we stopped seeing a dwarf and an elf and saw Legolas and Gimli instead." I cannot explain it any better than that.

"And how could anyone, seeing you, not love you." She sighs contentedly. I am filled with a rush of love. It overwhelms me.

"Thank you," I say, I need to let her know how much I appreciate her. I have been remiss in that lately.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me, for being here."

And she smiles when she replies.

"You are here, Legolas. There is nowhere I would rather be."


	29. Chapter 29

**Authors Note: So I thought this would be the last chapter...but turns out there's still one more. Maewen had more to say than I thought!**

 **Maewen**

It is strange, once things begin to change, how rapidly it happens.

The clouds have lifted, the sun shines, and I am happy. It is as if Legolas and I have been caught in a storm. A whirlwind of thunder and lightening, gales and torrential rain. Battered and buffeted by outside forces we have staggered through it and emerged on the other side. And along the way all the misunderstanding, the harsh words, the resentment and anger has been washed away leaving us fresh and new.

We have found ourselves again and alongside that we have found each other.

Legolas and his father have been seldom apart. They roamed all parts of the settlement and our new land and Thranduil was fascinated with every aspect of it. He is proud of his son and that is good to see. He always has been but Legolas, I think, has not known that.

And so I have not seen much of my love, hardly at all, as his father monopolised his time but I did not resent that for it is good for him. I saw him in the night, when Thranduil rested and he returned to me. Then we walked under the stars.

I wonder sometimes, exactly which moment things changed for Legolas, for they most definitely have. For me, it was when he told me he believed I no longer loved him, worse than that, that I hated him. It was a moment so crushing it could not fail to open my eyes. In an instant I saw the damage my resistance had done, for he was right. How could he believe I loved him when I spent all my energy rejecting every new part of him. That was the moment I was determined to change.

I suspect, for Legolas, it was when we returned to where Taenor fell. He fell apart then, splintered before my eyes as I had known he would, and Elessar caught him. It was hard that day to walk away and leave him alone with the Man but the dwarf insisted. He was determined and would not let me stay. He is such an amusing creature, the dwarf. I find I am becoming quite fond of him, and he loves Legolas. So how can their friendship be wrong? It is strange. . . But not wrong.

And Elessar—I do not know what he did. I do not know what magic he wove, but from the instant the dwarf and I returned Legolas was different. His tenseness had unwound somehow. Suddenly he could hear us.

I am having to reassess Elessar as well. He is not what I thought at all, and Legolas needs him, but I worry. I worry so much about the day he will leave Legolas, for he must. He is mortal.

How will Legolas survive that?

But now I find myself on my way to Minas Tirith escorting Thranduil. He means to visit Elessar's city before he departs for the Greenwood. And Legolas is not here.

He has returned days ago with Elessar, saying he needed to be there before his father, to greet him formally, that there were things that needed attending to and protocol determined he should escort the King home. It was all nonsense and excuses of course. I think he simply wished for time alone with his friend and I let him have it. There were too many harsh words and bad feelings that had passed between them. They needed some time on the road to wash those clean. And the dwarf has returned to his home so I think Legolas clings a little tighter to his remaining mortal friend.

So I am left with Thranduil who is always nerve-wracking and never easy.

We are near the city and have paused at a vantage point to gaze upon it. The same place we halted when I came this way with Legolas. The city is still the same, still stone rising out of the land but it is somehow less intimidating than before.

"It is impressive certainly." It is Thranduil who speaks beside me and he startles me.

"They are very proud of it," I tell him. "But it is too cold for me. Too much stone and not enough greenery. Legolas has plans to change that for Arwen, he says."

"Hmm," Something tells me it is not Thranduil's idea of a city either, "So Legolas likes this place well enough then?"

"He likes the people who live there and that is the most important thing for him I think."

I turn to go but Thranduil reaches out and grips my arm. It is a sudden movement that takes me by surprise.

"Look after my son for me," he says and his gaze is so intense I struggle to meet it. He is anxious about leaving, I know that, especially now there is no Taenor to be his eyes and ears, and it is hard to see the worry so clearly on his face. I am not used to seeing weakness of any kind from my King.

"Of course," I answer him quickly because it goes without saying that I will. "He is my heart."

"See if you can convince him to come to Eryn Lasgalen. . . for a visit."

It is then I truly realise what it has cost Thranduil to allow Legolas to come here, what he has lost—his sadness.

But Legolas struggles in the Greenwood now. His sealonging is at it's worst there. It tears him apart that in the home he loved and fought for, for so long, he can find no peace. He is restless and anxious and unhappy. That is why I came here in the end, even though I resented every minute of it. Because I could see how he could _not_ remain there.

I wonder if there is a way though, if Legolas and I work together. Can we find a plan that will enable him to happily visit his father, to give him the time he needs. I resolve to talk to him about it seriously.

"I will try," It is the best I can tell my King. "He misses you. . . But it is difficult for him to be there." He knows this, I do not have to tell him, but still I feel I must.

"I know he does not stay away from choice." He sighs heavily and turns his horse towards the road. "Let us do this then Maewen. Let us visit this city of Men which has enchanted my son whom we both love."

As we enter the city the welcome is indeed a splendid one. People line the streets to get a glimpse of the Elvenking as we parade through them and the soldiers who lead us are deferential to the point of terror. There are hushed whispers all around and I can understand why. Thranduil is indeed at once both magnificent and terrifying, even to elves, let alone Men.

I remember Legolas telling me how fascinated the people of this city are with him. How, when he walks the streets, there are always surreptitious touches of his hair or his clothes as he passes through the crowds. They alternate, he says, between amazement and fear. Half of them adore him and the other half believe him capable of enchanting them with spells. Today they look at Thranduil as if he has the power of the Lady of Lothlorien. He has power, certainly, but not like her. Though watching him I can see why the Men would think it.

When we finally reach the reception outside the Royal Palace, Elessar and Arwen stand before us, in all their finery. It is completely different from the welcome Legolas, Faramir and I recieved the last time I was here. But as I look, anxiously, around the gathering of nobles I cannot see Legolas.

He is not here.

Thranduil notices it too.

"Where is my son?" He mutters beside me as we dismount, leaving me in absolutely no doubt he is not impressed with his absense. It is especially odd given that Legolas told us one of the reasons he had to come to Minas Tirith early was to be here to greet his father.

But there is no time for us to discuss it. Elessar already stands before us.

"My Lord," he says deferentially, giving a low bow. "Welcome to Minas Tirith." Arwen smiles at his side, her face alight. I really think she misses the company of Elves in this city of Men. Her face radiates true joy at our presence.

"My Lord, Thranduil," she says, extending her arm to him, "You must be tired from the road. Let us retire inside for some rest and refreshment."

"Undómial," The Evenstar, he calls her. Her elven honorific, well deserved for she truly is the most beautiful elleth I have ever seen. "It is good to meet you, daughter of Elrond."

And so we follow them inside, to an ornate reception room where a fire burns merrily in the grate and tables are laden with drink and food. It is a relief to be away from the awestruck eyes of the multitudes. Thranduil turns to Elessar the moment the door shuts behind us, eyes flashing with his frustration.

"Where is Legolas?" He cuts straight to the point.

Elessar pales as he opens his mouth to answer. Briefly he looks as terrified as his people and I find it is somewhat amusing but Arwen saves him. She places a hand on Thranduil's arm and smiles up at him. Something in her smile is miraculously calming and even Thranduil melts.

"I must apologise for his absense," she says sweetly, "It is entirely our fault for he has taken Eldarion to the woods today on an adventure. They had a promise it seems and Eldarion nagged him in to submission."

Instantly the concern and frustration I felt at the lack of Legolas, evaporates as I remember that small boy, big eyes wide with misunderstanding and on the verge of tears, calling out after Legolas when we left here, pleading for a promise from him of some time in the woods. I told Legolas I would make sure he fulfilled that promise. I am pleased he has, I am pleased he did it without my assistance. It is, I think, a sign that he is well.

"Eldarion?" Thranduil is, for a second, confused.

"Our son." Elessar replies and Thranduil's eyes fly open in alarm.

"You have let Legolas out in the wilds alone with a child!" His shock at the very idea of that almost makes me laugh. "He has no idea of children and sometimes, Elessar, he is so caught up with the trees and whatever else catches his mind he is barely more responsible than a child himself! Have you lost your senses?" It is true of course, what Thranduil says. Legolas can be as flighty and irresponsible when he is entwined with the land, as he was when a small boy.

But Elessar just smiles.

"Peace, Thranduil," he says. "My son could not be in safer hands. Legolas will let nothing harm him. When it comes to Eldarion he is responsibility personified. You will see."

And Thranduil gives him a look that is full of scepticism. It is clear Thranduil thinks him ever so slightly unbalanced.

The food is delicious, and the company friendly. Even Thranduil mellows eventually and drops some of his aura of power, becomes more approachable. And when Elessar eventually stands to guide him to his rooms I stand also. I am not sure exactly where in the palace we are and I hope someone will direct me to where they wish me to go so I will not make a fool of myself. It is Arwen who saves me.

"Come Maewen," she says holding out her arm. I will take you to your rooms. The direction she heads in is not the direction I thought we would go and by the time we reach the door she stops in front of I am sure it is not the room I last stayed in.

When she swings the door open I know it is not.

The suite of rooms is large and impressive. Much larger than where they last housed me. . . And it is strewn with Legolas' belongings. He has always been chaotically untidy. Arwen laughs at my shock.

"We thought we should put you together, since you are the Lady of Ithilien."

"I am not–" I look at her horrified. "Legolas told me Men are impossibly picky about these things and it is easy to offend them. Legolas and I are not. . . We are have not been wed, we have sworn no formal vow. . . It is not the way of my people."

"But you have here." She lays a hand over my heart, "And that is all that counts. They do not have to know the details of the two of you. If we announce you as such they will all accept it. He needs you with him I think." I am flabbergasted. I certainly did not expect this and she laughs at my speechlessness. "I am sorry it means you have to contend with this. . ." She waves her hand at the mess of clothes and items that adorn the rooms, "but I assume you are used to it. He has always resisted any efforts to impose tidiness upon him."

I do not know what to say.

"I assume this is welcome?" She asked quietly then obviously perturbed by my stunned silence.

"Oh yes!" I will not have her think I do not wish to be with Legolas, for I do, I do! "It is welcome indeed, it is just. . .unexpected."

She places a hand gently on my arm.

"I need to thank you," she says, "For returning Legolas to Estel. The rift between them caused him much distress."

"That was not my doing," I exclaim for I think I played no part in that. "It was the dwarf, I think, who was the only one Legolas was able to hear. It was him who encouraged their reconnection."

"And it was you who sent for Gimli." she smiles. "Gimli and Legolas, they are a strange pair. Gimli is a rock to Legolas' wildness. No wonder he intends visiting him as soon as his father departs!"

"He intends visiting him?" I do not know this. Legolas has not mentioned he had any plans to travel back to the dwarf so soon. We have just found each other and I thought he might wish to spend some time with me.

"You did not know those were his plans?" Arwen frowns as she looks at me with what could only be called concern and I am instantly defensive.

"We have discussed it of course." I say brazenly, I surprise myself how easily I lie and I hope she cannot see into my mind. "But I did not know he had spoken of his plans with others. . . And his Father does not know. . . He wishes Legolas to visit the Greenwood, but there are problems with that."

"I will not speak of it to Thranduil, you have my word." She says it firmly. "I think I will leave Legolas to deal with that himself!" She turns to go then and leave me alone as I settle in to these strange rooms. "Legolas will be back shortly," They are her last words spoken over her shoulder as she departs. "Estel instructed him to have Eldarion back by dark and he is always obedient when it is to do with Eldarion."

And then I am on my own.

I wonder when Legolas decided he would visit Gimli? Was it back in Ithilien or just since he has arrived here? I know now he needs his friends, and I am determined not to keep him from them. I will not be selfish, I will not be resentful, I will not fall back into my bad habits and inadvertently hurt him.

I can see how it might benefit him to spend time with the dwarf now, and away from Ithilien, just for a short time.

But it is time away from me.

And I cannot pretend that does not hurt.


	30. Chapter 30

The first thing I see when Arwen has gone is my things piled in the corner of the room waiting for me to unpack them. But I do not want to. The thought of Legolas disappearing on another one of his travels has made me miserable.

Instead I head out onto the balcony where I can sit in the afternoon sun, and watch the city below me. People move through the street like ants on a path and it is fascinating to watch them. I do not like this city, I am not at home here but it is new and different and challenging. That is not a bad thing, it is not! This is what I wished for my whole life. To travel beyond the forest and see the world. And now, thanks to Legolas, I am. We will leave this place one day, never to return, and I should soak it all up to hold close as a cherished memory in the future.

I am still sitting there, watching, thinking, as the setting sun spreads red rays of fire across the streets when Legolas arrives.

He bursts into the room like a whirlwind. The door slams back against the wall as he enters at speed and I hear him pause. I can imagine him in my minds eye, bouncing on the balls of his feet as his eyes search the room. His energy swirls around me even where I sit in an exhilarating tornado of emotion. He is happy.

"Maewen?"

He says my name, barely above a whisper, as if he almost dares to hope I am there.

"Here!" I call out to him and I find I am suddenly impatient to see him.

He is alight. His eyes dance with merriment, his hair is a tangle of gold, he is windswept and tousled. He is joy, he is . . . Young.

I have not seen him like this for, oh so long.

And his face when he sees me is radiant.

"What are you doing?" He smiles.

"Watching them." I wave my hand towards the tiny dots of people crawling through the streets.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" He says as he kneels beside me, "In the sunset the stone glows."

And I sigh,

"No, it will never be beautiful. Not like the wood. But it is interesting."

"I am sorry I was not here when you arrived." Suddenly he changes the subject, the words tumble out of his mouth in a torrent, "I know I should have been, but Eldarion. . . I had promised him, you remember? He was insistent. . ."

And I realise he is anxious about this. He fears my reaction to his absense. My years of rejection have scarred him—have scarred us.

"It is alright, Legolas." I reach for his hands which fidget in his anxiety and hold them still. "I am pleased you went with Eldarion. How is he?"

"He is. . . " He pauses to think and it makes me smile to watch him, to see the light in his eyes as he talks of the boy. " He is Eldarion. He makes me happy. He is so joyful, Maewen. He sees the world differently, he almost sees it as I do! "

His eyes slide away then, out to the city.

"How did my father take it? The fact I was not here." I am not the only one whose reactions make him nervous then.

"He was taken aback." I laugh out loud then as I remember. "You should have seen his face when Elessar told him he had let you take his child to the woods. Honestly, Legolas he thought Elessar had lost his mind!"

A frown creases Legolas' face.

"He thinks me irresponsible."

"He does _not_ Legolas! He gifted the lives of his people to your care. But he knows in the trees you are not always focused when you do not need to be."

"And when Eldarion is with me I _need_ to be!"

"But he does not know you know that!" I lean myself up against Legolas and bask in his warmth. "Your father. . . He is not looking forward to leaving you. He asked me if we could visit the Greenwood, if I would bring you there for him."

And Legolas withdraws, takes his hand from mine and wraps his arms about himself tightly.

"I cannot go there. It is too hard, Maewen. I know he misses me as I miss him and I am all he has left but I cannot spend any time there." He curls up on himself in a defensive ball as he speaks and it breaks my heart to watch. His light, that glorious light he greeted me with is all but extinguished.

"Perhaps it will be better now, Legolas, now that Laerion does not lie unsaid between you? If we work together. . . We can find a way." I pull his hands back towards me. I will not let him retreat like this—not any more.

"It is not Laerion. The problem has never been Laerion there. It is the sea." He turns to me and his face is anguished. "It does not feel like home anymore Maewen...it was my home and I have fought for it. I love it. But I can never be at peace there and it hurts."

It is the cruelest of all the burdens he bears I think, this sundering from the forest he loves. I still believe I can find a way to make it work—just a short visit—if I only understood his sea better. But I have spent all these years running from that and he says he does not wish to share it with me. He wants to keep us separate so he has something the sea cannot touch. I understand his reasoning but I am not sure that will work.

I decide I will ask the dwarf. He knows far more of Legolas' sealonging than I. More even than Elessar I think. It is he who is best at holding it at bay. I will ask his advice, send a letter via Faramir. I will be sending mail to Legolas while he is there after all!

But thinking of Legolas leaving me to visit the Glittering Caves brings back a rush of misery. I do not want him to go.

He feels it of course.

We have discovered ourselves again and so we are entwined. Our fea's dance around each other in a sensual harmony. We used to be like this, years ago. And now we are back, melded, blended, and I can hide nothing from him any longer. He feels my misery as if it is his own, as I felt his happiness when he arrived here.

"What is wrong?" I can feel his tension as he asks it. "Something is wrong. Tell me!"

And I hesitate. My first instinct is to lie, to find a reason for this he will accept...that I am uncomfortable here perhaps? But I have promised myself I will not hide things from him any longer.

"Arwen told me you intend to visit Gimli when your Father leaves."

His words come out in a rush, as they did before. Once again he is anxious and I do not like the fact he is so concerned, so worried, so tangled up inside with fear he will offend me. What can I do to mend this? I am so diverted, so distracted by it that at first I do not realise what it is he says.

"I am sorry, Maewen. I should not have mentioned it before I spoke with you I know. I thought some time together. . . An adventure of our own. Some time on the road, just the two of us would do us good. We do not have to stay with Gimli. We could go to Edoras and see Eomer too. There is so much there I wish to show you, places I have been. But it is too much. . . I understand, the dwarves are strange. If you do not want to go, it is alright, Maewen. I understand."

He does not intend to leave me. He wishes me to go with him!

"No! I _do_ want to go with you Legolas. I do! I thought you meant to leave me here."

And he frowns with confusion.

"Why would I do that? Why would you think that?"

"Because you have left me before. . . I just assumed. . ."

He stares at me for a moment, as if he cannot believe my words and then all of sudden, out of nowhere, he leaps to his feet. It is _so_ Legolas. So like the old Legolas, to change his train of thought like this.

"We must hurry" he cries, "I completely forgot. They present us tonight. Us, and my father. We must get ready and I have something for you."

Present us? To the public? As a couple? The thought is terrifying.

"Legolas, I cannot!"

"You _can_." He smiles and he grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. "Come look, It is a surprise!"

He drags me to stand in front of the closet as he throws the doors wide and rummages inside.

"Here!" And he holds out to me the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. It is intricate and delicate, adorned with beads and jewels, the most perfect colour to show off my hair and my eyes. It will make me shine. It is a dress for a princess.

"Ohh!" I cannot help but exclaim over it. I have never seen anything so exquisite.

"I had it made. It should fit . . . I hope. . . Though I must admit Arwen did provide some help, just a little."

"Oh Legolas!" I cannot believe it is mine, that he has done this for me.

"You will look like a princess." He says, "like the princess you are and they will all envy me." He reaches out then to tuck my hair behind my ears, out of my eyes, so he can see my face.

"Come now," he holds the dress out to me. "Put it on! We cannot keep my Father waiting."

And so I do, and it is gorgeous. I _do_ feel like a princess in this dress.

"I feel beautiful." I murmer as it spins around me in a cloud of loveliness.

"You _are_ beautiful." He whispers in my ear.

As we walk to the dining room I am walking on air. I should be nervous. I should be terrified. This is exactly the kind of thing I hate, being on show in front of others for I know they will think I am not enough for Legolas. . .how can I _ever_ be enough for Legolas.

But tonight I feel as if I could match anyone. I feel as if I could stand next to Arwen Undómiel and hold my own! And Legolas walks beside me, his hand in mine. We are together and together we can face anything.

We meet Thranduil outside the hall. I thought Legolas was magnificent this evening but Thranduil is another level of magnificence entirely. Legolas laughs when he sees him.

"Father! You put me to shame. They will look at me and think you have bought some peasant Silvan from the forest along with you!"

"They will look at you and wonder at how lucky I am to have such a son." Thranduil replies and he is serious, deadly serious, and I know Legolas needs to hear it, no matter how much he makes jokes at his own expense.

"Daughter," Thranduil turns to me and takes my hand, bestowing it with a kiss. "You do the Forest proud this evening. As you have always done. "

He has never called me that before and I am undone. It is all I can do to mumble his name in reply as I curtesy.

"Come," Legolas encircles me with his arm and leads me forward. "Let us do this, beloved. I am eager to show you off." He dips his head towards mine, his mouth by my ear as he whispers, "I have waited so long to do this. To stand here with you and have everyone know of us."

I hear them announce our names as we enter. I hear them call me Lady of Ithilien and I hear the crowd gasp when they see us.

It is as if I am in a dream, as we walk towards Elessar and Arwen who wait in the distance. But Legolas holds me up, Legolas moves me on, Legolas keeps me close and holds me tight.

Legolas is my love and I am his.

And nothing else matters.

The End.

 **And so so we leave Legolas and Maewen. I will miss writing them I think!**

 **but at least they are in a better place than we found them in. Not perfect...but better!**

 **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, especially guest reviewers who I haven't been able to answer. I hope you have enjoyed this. :-)**

 **There is a sequel to this story published here by Cheekybeak called " Fire Dancing Upon Our Souls."**


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